A Small Victory
by curdled-milk
Summary: She helped save the world from Voldemort, but who would help her save humanity from itself? HG/DM. rated M for language and possible later content.
1. Prologue

-- I started an experiment. Never tried the HP genre before. Don't quite know how I feel about something so mainstream, especially given that, oh sacrilege of sacrilege, I didn't actually think the books were any good. In contrast, buried amongst all the shit, there are some surprisingly good HP fanfics out there, which I have enjoyed more than the books themselves. Then again, that is not saying much. - - cm - -

--

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do not own the characters or any such things as happen to be already copyrighted by she-who-needn't-be-named-here. My plot, and anything not already belonging to others, however, belongs to me.

--

So, here it is:

**A Small Victory**

Prologue

A few weeks after the war was over, the bodies buried, and the medals awarded, Hermione Granger got to work. She'd always been called the brightest witch of her generation, and she'd accepted that. After all, she was always first in her class in everything. Sure, she knew it wasn't all brains that got her to this point; it was her formidable organization and her obsessive-compulsive reading tendencies as well. But still, it was only now, that the war was over and she was still alive, that she finally sat down and thought about it. _Her generation_. Hermione had seen a number of her friends and acquaintances struck down in the years since Voldemort returned. She'd seen the British wizarding world crippled and ultimately toppled by that madman and his gang of psychotic thugs. She'd spent the better part of a year wandering around the back woods of Britain and hiding from the magical community with Harry. In all her years of schooling, all her years spent worrying over if she and any of her friends would survive until adulthood, she'd never really thought about just how small the magical community truly was.

Before she reached for a book, Hermione sat down and listed what she knew.

_1. Hogwarts wasn't just the pre-eminent wizarding school in Britain, it was, to all intents and purposes, the __**only**__ one._

_a. In her class alone, there had been, at most, 25 Gryffindors (somewhat fewer remained now). This number was similar to the populations of each of the other three houses. _

_b. No other year had significantly more students._

_ i. Conclusion #1: in the entirety of Great Britain, there were less than 1000 magical individuals between the ages of 11 and 18._

_2. The Death Eaters had managed to topple the Ministry and continue their reign of fear over all of Britain for the better part of a year._

_a. Excluding the werewolves, dementors, giants, vampires and miscellaneous creatures of the dark that had joined the evil gits, there were less than 50 true Death Eaters. _

_b. These 50 Death Eaters had taken over the Ministry, replaced its aurors and run Hogwarts, and still had time to spare in kissing up to V. and organizing imprisonment, torture and execution of muggle-borns. _

_c. Aside from the 20 or so individuals in the Order of the Phoenix, and the students in the DA, no one had even tried, much less succeeded in raising an army capable of tackling the Death Eaters. _

_ i: Conclusion #2: despite the Ministry's love of bureaucracy, there really wasn't much to do, and not many positions to fill to run and control all of wizarding Britain. Therefore the Ministry was tiny in comparison to muggle government, proportionately reflecting the overall population of the wizarding community. _

_ii: Conclusion #2b: No army could be raised because there simply weren't enough people to do so._ After some thought, she added the amendment: _Or, they were simply all too cowardly_.

_3. The preeminent shopping district of wizarding Britain, Diagon Alley, occupies less than 4 blocks of a single street in London. Including all its branches such as Knockturn alley, the area is possibly 7 or 8 square blocks. And that's all._

_a. There must not be that many goods to buy_

_b. There was not enough demand to produce more goods_

_ i. Conclusion #3: There were either too few producers or consumers of_ _magical goods. Possibly both._

_4. The overseas schools of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, were, like Hogwarts, essentially the only wizarding academies of any scale in their respective countries._

_ i. Conclusion #4: The magical communities of other countries in Europe were probably as proportionately small as Britain's._

_5. There were upwards of 6 billion muggles in the world._

_a. During the years that V. was rising, less than 1000 muggles were killed by Death Eater-provoked hostilities._

_b. All of these deaths had been covered up by the magical authorities by liberal use of obliviate and planting of false memories, or else were attributed to accident or muggle terrorism by the muggle authorities._

_c. As terrorism goes, death-eaters had made remarkably little impact on the muggle world in general, although they had got the muggle ministry all in a panic. _

_d. Muggle governments and public attitudes were well known for its excessive use of force when terrorism was suspected. _

_e. Muggles were not well known for tolerance of different ethnic groups._

_ i. Conclusion #5: if muggles were to realize the true cause of all those deaths, they would almost certainly declare war on the wizarding world._

Hermione looked down at what she had written, and shuddered. If her assumptions were correct, and her conclusions valid, her world was in trouble. Big trouble. Praying she was wrong, Hermione heaved a sigh, stretched, and headed for the nearest library.

Three weeks, several reams of paper, and many quills later, she was sure. Her desk and floor were littered with scholarly research, old censuses, almanacs, histories and what have you. She'd done all the research, and used her formidable arithmancy skills to devise a model of the future. And it did not look good. Not only were magical beings of all sorts, including magical humans, dying out, but her calculations showed a nearly 90 chance that within a generation (probably coinciding with the rising of the next dark lord whomever he or she might be), the wizarding world would no longer be able to hide its existence (such as it was) from the non-magical population. This almost certainly spelled disaster, if wizard society continued its long-standing traditions.

Hermione was a logical girl. She could see plain as day that these were two separate problems:

_1: Why were wizards in particular, and magical beings in general disappearing? And how could that trend be reversed, or at the very least, halted?_

_2: How to prepare for the day when muggles woke up to the parallel society in their midst, so that both sides would survive the meeting?_

Problem #1 seemed like a problem in biology. Possibly environmental, possibly genetics. But definitely an issue she could tackle with the right research.

On the other hand, problem #2 was political in nature. It would require knowledge of sociopolitical conflict. It would require the entire magical outlook on muggles to be reshaped, it would require the dismantling of generations of tightly held tradition. It would require charisma, leadership skills, and popularity. She had none of these things. She was intelligent, frighteningly so, but she was cold and calculating. She was bossy and short tempered. People acknowledged her powers but they did not respect her, and they certainly didn't like her. And she was muggle-born. Yes, Voldemort was dead (again) but the damage he did could not have been sustained if people didn't already believe in his cause. Was there anyone else who could do the job? Harry was a hero, but even if he wanted to go into politics (which he didn't), the shine of heroism would wear off quickly. The public was fickle and had turned on Harry too often in the past for him to carry it off. They would love him for a day or a month, but soon would find cause to belittle him. Ron? No. Nobody respected a Weasley. She just didn't know. There had to be options, but she was just too ignorant in this area to see them. Worse, she couldn't think of anyone left alive that she could ask who would take her seriously. She hated being a teenage girl.

Hermione grabbed a new quill and started scratching out a new set of arithmancy equations. She had time. Not much (in the grand scheme of things), but enough. She could get to work on problem #1, and by the time her generation started ascending the ranks of power there might arise someone who could pull off what needed to be done. Before it was too late.

There was a catch of course. There is always a catch: a price that must be paid. Hermione was a very thorough girl. She'd put into her equations variables for what she would have to do with her life to see her plan through. She would not have time for Ron. They would not marry, not have a house full of curly red-haired terrors to raise. She would not be able to have the kind of life she'd hoped for, a quiet life of academic research and family. In fact, she would have to leave the wizarding world for a number of years. You just don't learn enough real science and biology in wizarding society. And what if something muggle was to blame for the decline in magical population? The only way to learn about muggle hazards was to live in their world.

Hermione sighed, and brushed away a single tear. What she wanted didn't matter. It never had. She was going to save the world. Single handedly if she had to. What else could she do?

--

There you go. Prologue. I admit, my reading of the HP books was less than thorough, so if I get details wrong, feel free to correct me. I may or may not fix my errors depending on just how much I care. Updates will be highly variable as to frequency, but as with all my other fics, I promise that it will reach a conclusion, though if it starts to blither on too long, said conclusion may be minimally satisfactory to all concerned. Questions, comments? As ever, there's that review button, or failing that, I remain curdled (dot) milk (at) gmail (dot) com.


	2. A cracking portrait

**Chapter 1: A Cracking Portrait**

Fourteen long years later, Hermione sat in her office revising her latest predictions. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. Time was running out. She had to find a champion for her cause. And soon. Preferably yesterday. Or two years ago. If she couldn't, then all of her sacrifices would have been in vain.

Hermione had been busy over the years. The first thing she'd done after completing her first set of calculations was to shock her friends and classmates by refusing to go back to Hogwarts to complete her seventh year studies.

"Why should I?" She'd stated reasonably to their aghast faces, "I took all the texts with me when we were in hiding. Why should I have to sit through classes when I already know the material?" She left out the fact that while she may have brought the books, she was usually too focused on surviving and hunting horcruxes to have actually memorized the material in her usual fashion. It was a small detail, really. They'd protested, argued, pleaded, and cajoled, but Hermione held firm. In the end, they had to acquiesce to her demand. She was, after all, an adult. It had been harder to convince the school to let her take her NEWTs without having taken the requisite classes. But again, with a little pressure from the newly reformed Ministry, the decorated war hero had her way. And if she didn't get O's in every subject, at least she got E's. Her friends were shocked again at her nonchalance. They all had been changed by the war, and were still learning each other's new foibles.

Armed with her transcripts and exam scores, Hermione had charmed her records to appear as the closest muggle equivalents, and applied to muggle university. By this point her friends had long since ceased to question her strange behavior, and just wished her luck. She had used the time while she waited for acceptance to read everything she could get her hands on to prepare herself for the task ahead. She subscribed to a ridiculous pile of academic magical journals, raided muggle libraries by the armloads, and bought herself a computer.

In due course, she matriculated to university, where she shocked her new classmates and professors by double majoring in chemical engineering and mechanical engineering—a feat which her advisor said couldn't be done. Not in four years. Nevertheless, she did it, throwing in minors in biology and sociology for good measure. She didn't really have friends. She didn't really have a life. She still saw Harry and Ron on occasion, but they didn't understand her actions, and anyway, were too busy living their own lives to be much of a support to her. After all, she'd always been the one to be there for them, and not vice versa. It would have been silly to expect that to change now. Especially since she had so summarily dumped Ron, soon after passing her NEWTs.

Every summer she interned at major corporations. After graduation, she stayed on another three years to earn her M.Eng and PhD. Again, she'd been told it wasn't possible, but she didn't care, she did it anyway. Then there had been 3 years working for a consultancy firm, after which she was finally on her own. For four years, she'd run her own consultancy agency, specializing in muggle industrial pollution.

Through her years of schooling she'd spent what little free time she'd had modeling the problem of the magical population decline. Between arithmancy and complicated computer modeling systems, she thought she'd discovered the root cause of the problem. And now she was dealing with it. She hoped. She'd checked and rechecked her calculations so many times she virtually had her data set memorized, but there was still always a shadow of a doubt. . .

Hermione was roused from her recollections by the ringing of her phone.

"Yes?!" she barked curtly.

"Ma'am, your 3:30 appointment is here."

"Alright, send him in." Hermione sighed and reached for the folder on her desk. Today she was supposed to be meeting a new client, representing FerrousCo LTD, to discuss their emissions control problems. Quickly, she pulled up her standard New Client Presentation on the computer, and rubbed her eyes as if to brush her unending weariness away.

The door clicked open, and Hermione stood to greet the company rep, her polite half-smile already fixed in place.

"Hello, I'm Herm. . . ." The words died on her lips, as her brain caught up to the vision her eyes presented before her.

"Hermione Granger. So I see. It has been a while, hasn't it?" The words were polite, but she almost thought she heard a sneer underlying his smooth voice. For sure, his eyes were faintly mocking, amused, she was positive, by her discomfiture. Alas, Hermione Granger had faced far worse things in her life, and wasn't about to let this little surprise throw her for a loop.

"Mr. Malfoy. What a surprise. I wasn't aware that FerrousCo was a subsidiary of Malfoy Industries." And she highly doubted that Malfoy was the middle manager she'd been expecting to see. "Come in, have a seat. Would you like some tea?"

He came in, he sat down, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "You know, I think I will."

Duly, Hermione called her secretary, all the while feeling Malfoy's appraising eyes upon her. Tea was served, in silence. She was sure he was trying to make her uncomfortable, worrying why he was here, what he wanted, what he could do, but she was having none of it. She just smiled serenely, a smile that never reached her eyes, and sipped her tea.

"Now then, Granger." He broke the silence first, "You're a hard woman to track down."

"Indeed?" Hermione raised a quizzical eyebrow, "I wasn't aware I was hiding."

"Given how many laws you've broken, perhaps you should be." He leveled a challenging stare at the woman across from him.

"Oh dear. What laws would those be?" she stared right back, unafraid of the underlying threat in his words.

"Don't play stupid, Granger." He sneered, "Do you really think I'd come all this way, dress up like a muggle and all, if I didn't know what you were up to?"

"Well, I don't know, now do I?" she responded calmly, "I haven't seen you in 14 years, how could I hope to guess your motivations after all this time?"

"What's your game, Granger?" He persisted, leaning closer, "Just what do you hope to accomplish here?"

"I thought you said you knew."

"I know you've been practicing magic in the muggle world. I know you've been building devices incorporating magic and muggle technology, in clear contravention of the ministry treaties and at least half a dozen laws. I know you've been exporting said devices worldwide, again, in clear contravention of wizarding law. I know that I could have you locked away in prison for a very long time were I to share what I know."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione didn't feel like playing his game, "Are you just here to threaten me? If you know all that, you also know I have all the required permits for my business. I haven't broken any laws."

"Ha!" He barked a laugh, "Permits which all went through Arthur Weasley, who everyone know is a sucker for illegal hybrid muggle-magical contraband. Arthur Weasley who to this day brags about you as you were his own daughter, despite the callous way in which you ditched his youngest son as soon as the war was over."

"Nevertheless, I haven't broken any laws." She refused to flinch in the face of his flung accusations.

"You'd really do that? You'd really let a Weasley take the fall for you? My, My, My, Granger, you are a piece of work. I thought you were the goody-two-shoes, the nagging conscience of the trio-that-wouldn't-keep-out-of-everyone's-business, the perfect princess of Gryffindor."

"Yes, well. You shouldn't make assumptions, Mr. Malfoy." She wasn't going to rise to the bait. Apparently Malfoy was still the bully he'd been in school. Now, as then, she had more important things to do than cater to his own sense of self-importance. "Now then, are you actually here as a representative of FerrousCo, and if so, did you ever intend to make use of our services, or have I wasted my time researching your pollution problem?"

"Huh." He sat back once more and gazed at Hermione. Appraising her, for real this time. Not as a sparring opponent, someone to threaten and manipulate. Not as the princess of the golden trio, best friend to the boy-who-refused-to-stay-dead. But as the woman who had disappeared for fourteen years. The brightest witch of her age, vanished from the wizarding world. Potter and Weasley had known where she was, but they never said. Rumors flew for quiet some time. She'd had a nervous breakdown, she'd died, she'd lost the use of her magic, she'd gone insane, she'd given up on magic completely. And every once in a while the newspapers would do a small article on suspected sightings, speculation on her whereabouts. But after a time, no one seemed to care or remember her anymore. Hell, he certainly hadn't.

Things change. Now he was curious. She sat there, calm and still behind her cluttered desk. Hair as frizzy and horrible as it had ever been, tied in a knot at the base of her neck, stray tendrils curling every which way. She was thin, terribly thin, as if she had never recovered from the year she had spent on the run, malnourished and afraid. Her suit was stylish and sleek but it could not hide the angularity of her bones beneath. And her eyes. . . Draco stared at those drab brown eyes. She looked tired, so very tired. He recognized in her eyes something he had so often seen in his own when he looked in the mirror. The sharp, cold, bleakness. The depths that came of having seen too much, too young. The papers were partly right, he saw. The war had damaged her, just as it had damaged him, and so many others of their generation. She looked older and more careworn than her 32 years would suggest, and not for the first time, Draco wondered what in hell she was up to, just as he had wondered when he had first stumbled across her handiwork.

"All right, Granger. Have it your way." Draco wasn't the child he once was. It wouldn't really have given him satisfaction to have cowed her into spilling her secrets, but he could never resist testing an opponent's mettle. Nor was it worth it to him to follow through on his threats. No, he'd come here today not to threaten, not to blackmail, but because he was curious, and because he was bored. She was a mystery, an enigma. And he so desperately needed a puzzle, a challenge, anything to save him from the mindless tedium of his life. "Give me your spiel. Just what exactly can you offer to FerrousCo?"

"Indeed." Hermione sat back, deciding to continue as if their entire exchange of verbal barbs hadn't just occurred. "Based on the factory specs you provided, I have identified the following four critical stages where intervention is warranted. . . ." With practiced ease, she turned her flatscreen monitor around so Malfoy could see the schematics, and proceeded to give him nothing more, nothing less than her standard consultation spiel.

Draco listed with half his attention as she spoke, remembering just how he had stumbled across her activities in the first place. . .

_He'd been bored_. He'd been bored forever, or so it seemed. He'd been released from prison after only a few months, on probation. His father had remained with several more years to serve out. Fortunately, Azkaban was not the horror it once was, as the Dementors had been largely moved to a remote facility in the far North. No one wanted them around any more, not after their participation in the war. Nevertheless, with Lucius in prison, it fell to Draco to manage the family affairs. Their holdings had been an utter shambles, like so much of the economy following the war. Everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. Draco could relate to that. He'd spent a year in hell, trapped in the family mansion with a scaly semi-human half-blood maniac. He hadn't been able to finish school, but he'd made great inroads in the family library.

There was no time for reading now. He'd reviewed the company holdings, what was left of them, and pored through the records of all their subsidiaries and daughter companies. It was a complete shambles. Lucius had cared more for politics and the schemes of madmen than for management, and had let the company directors run things as they would. Even before the war, mismanagement, graft, and corruption had abounded. Fascinating, how Lucius could do to business by neglect what it taken years of bribery and scheming to do to the Ministry.

Draco had set out to change all that. He'd reorganized, pared the deadwood. Sold some assets, bough others. He'd fired whole levels of management, spent moths poring over years of ledgers and quarterly reports. There had been a lot of upset over his new choices to run his firms, and even more over how he'd made it clear that he was not his father. He was going to take an active part in the business, and they Would report to him, or face the consequences. He'd diversified, using money from his liquidated assets and savings from the streamlining of personnel to buy stock in muggle companies. He may not have liked Muggles, but given the state of the wizarding world, they seemed like better investments. And to him, that was all that really mattered.

All of this reorganization took years. There had been failures, he'd lost money, and made it back elsewhere. He'd lost good employees with the bad. He'd suffered from micromanagement fatigue. But he had got it done. By the time Lucius was released, Draco had rebuilt Malfoy industries into something he could be proud of. After that, it was all smooth sailing. Well, for the most part. And so he was bored. A well-oiled machine is productive, and profitable, but not so much fun as tinkering with the broken one.

He'd killed more time learning how to use muggle technology—after all, if he was going to invest in them, he should at least understand the tools used to make him money. He found himself reluctantly admitting that they got some things right; mobile phones for one, computers for another. Nevertheless, that didn't excuse the way they ran rampant over the Earth, heedlessly destroying resources in their quest for newer-better-more- technology. Such ridiculous overcompensation for magical skills they would never have.

He'd put himself through muggle business school – the wizarding world had no such equivalent, and earned an MBA. That had amused him for a time, since he'd never attended university or done a wizarding apprenticeship before conjuring up a false degree and transcripts for his applications. Forgery of muggle documents was so very easy with magic.

He'd spent time dating. But the pool of available females was small. And those of an appropriate station for him to be seen in public with, even smaller. Subtract from that the women who wouldn't be seen dead in public with an ex-convict, ex-Death Eater, (albeit a rich one) and he was dredging the bottom of the barrel for sure. For a while, there had been a blond Italian girl, a hot little minx if ever there was one. Sadly, she'd also been a bit of a dunce, and her bedroom antics and prima donna fits could not hold his attention when there was no brain to back them up with.

He'd taken up extreme sports. It had been a brief fling, as he learned that certain types of adrenaline rushes really did nothing for him. What's worse, several triggered flashbacks to the year he wished he could forget.

Eventually, he'd settled into a routine. Boring, dull, and mind-numbing. He often had felt as if he were biding his time, waiting for something, if only he could determine just what that was. He read the reports from his holdings obsessively, hoping against hope to find some disaster, anything, warranting his attention.

One day, several months ago, he'd been reviewing the report from one of his lesser subsidiaries—a small foray into agrobusiness no less—with several farms specializing in rare and difficult to find potions ingredients. He'd been thinking of selling this one off, as it had reported minimal profits and a number of losses in the time he'd overseen it. Interestingly, this time around, they were reporting a far greater improvement in profits. He checked the figures. It wasn't the market, neither demand nor supply had changed, However, the overhead figures for the farm had dropped drastically. Draco scratched his head as he continued to read. Nothing in the reports explained the What or the How. Did the manager reorganize? Pioneer a new growing technique? Find a new supplier of fertilizer? What?

He had decided to pay a visit to the farm itself to find out.

--

"Well, sir. . . It's the strangest thing." The man was dressed in dirty overalls, and was leaning on his hoe in the middle of a vast muddy field in Wales. If only Draco had known it would be this filthy, he wouldn't have worn such a nice suit.

"Do tell."

"Well, you know, I started this farm on land my father used to own. He was a muggle, you know, and for years and years he kept getting offers to buy the land. Developers, you know. They were building an industrial park upriver, and for whatever reason we have prime real estate. Father wouldn't sell, but he was too sick and old to use the land. He made me promise I'd turn it back into farmland, and never surrender to those polluting bastards up the way. So I did it. I figured, what's the best way to hide the land from muggles but to make it magical and vanish it from their notice? So that's what I did."

"Yes, yes, but you've been in the red ever since you began. What's changed?" Draco could care less for the man's sob story.

"I was getting to it." The man harrumphed and stared off into space before continuing, "Magical plants are delicate, you know. We don't fully understand how they acquire their magical properties, whether they get it from air or earth or water, or if they create their own. It's not like planting corn or something. When I first began, the plants kept dying. No matter what I did. They died. I tried fertilizer, and they did a bit better, but they weren't potent magically. Nothing I did worked. Then one day I got to wondering, see. My fields are downstream from that fucking industrial center. Working in those plants his whole life gave my father cancer, so I thought, what if they were contaminating my crops too? I called in a complaint to the muggle environmental regulatory agency. There was an investigation. I threatened to sue. The agency gave them 6 months to clean up their act, and whaddaya know, this spring All my fields grew in beautifully. So that's it. Wastewater. Killed years of my life. Fucking muggles. "

"Indeed." Draco pursed his lips. Pollution. Muggle pollution. There was so much of it, and so many kinds. Dirty, stinking muggles. All these things that existed outside the wizarding world, but affected it, without anyone knowing. If this ignorant farmer hadn't been of muggle stock, the muggle factory upstream would never have caught his attention. The venture would have failed, and no one would have known why.

There was much to consider, and Draco had apparated home with barely a terse farewell, leaving the farmer in his field to mutter about rude, ill-bred purebloods and their lack of common courtesy. . .

"Are you even listening to me?" Granger's clipped voice cut through the haze of memory. Draco shook himself and tried to remember what she had been on about.

"Yes, yes. So and so metric tons of carbon monoxide released annually, the plant needs to scale back by such and such a factor to meet current emissions standards, blah blah blah." Draco waved a dismissive hand, "Granger – I know all this already. I wouldn't have picked FerrousCo to hire you if it didn't have a problem."

"Really? Well good for you." Hermione let her lips curl upwards in the faintest of smiles. Or was it really a sneer? Let him guess, "So many of my clients only come to me when they are in dire straits, unaware of just how bad their problem is, only that they are losing millions of pounds purchasing pollution credits and hiring lawyers to hold the ministry environmentalists at bay."

"Riight. . ." Draco drawled, unconvinced, "And here I thought you were using scare tactics to convince the fools to hire you."

"My figures are entirely accurate." She sniffed disdainfully. "Do the math for yourself. Besides, my fees are a drop in the bucket compared to the cost of managing their problems themselves."

"And they don't find that at all suspicious?" Draco challenged, "You pose as a world class consultant, but you charge next to nothing? They must think you're an imbecile or a terrorist in disguise."

"That being the case, I'm not forcing anyone to hire me."

"Oh right." Now he was scoffing outright. "I did a quick diagnostic charm on the way in here. Your office is permeated with all manner of bizarre hexes and charms. Do you really mean to tell me that you're not pulling imperiuses on the stupid sheep the second they walk through that door?"

"I'm not you, Malfoy." Hermione shrugged, "I never needed to curse anyone to get my way. And you didn't let my poor secretary see your wand, did you?"

Her barb hit home, Draco stiffened and glared at her. He opened his mouth to snap back with another cutting comment, but the look on her face froze him in his seat.

"Don't even try, Malfoy." Her voice was low and dangerous, "You're on my territory and my patience is wearing thin. I don't lie and I don't curse my clients. I do what I can, within the limits of the law, to sell my product. And I do not need to justify anything that I do to the likes of you. This conversation is over. You plainly did not come here with the intention of listening to me, so I will return the discourtesy and cease listening to you." Smoothly, she got to her feet, as if to show him to the door. Draco could just see from his vantage point the thin scar that traced its way from under her shirt over her collarbone and up the side of her neck, just missing the jugular. A matching line was visible running from underneath her sleeve down the full length of the hand that rested flat on her desk.

Draco sighed and took the cue. "It's been a pleasure, Granger. Really. I'll have my people set up a time with your people for you to tour the factory. I want your devices installed by the end of next month. I may even throw in a bonus if you get the work done early." With that, he rose and swaggered to the door, gave a sardonic bow, smiling at the thunderclouds in her expression, and left.

ToBeContinued

--

Really? Only 10 hits in a day? That is a new record low for me I think. Shows what happens when I try new genres. Alas. –cm-

(standard fanfic disclaimers apply. and also, I stole the title and chapter titles from a song by faith no more. I am a terrible person)


	3. It shouldn't bother me

**Chapter 3 – It shouldn't bother me**

--

Later that week, Hermione grit her teeth, grabbed her briefcase and her toolkit and set out for FerrousCo's factory. Her instincts screamed for her not to go, not to walk into what was sure to be some sort of trap set for her by Draco Malfoy. She knew this had to be some sort of set up. Why else would he have come into her office and threatened her, unless he had some hidden motivation? Of course he had secret intents! He was a Malfoy, plotting was his lifeblood. Still. . . he could have kept out of sight and let her walk into his territory with no warning. He hadn't had to come to her office and taunt her.

Maybe he had known that she couldn't in good conscience turn down a contract.

Maybe he had known she couldn't afford to turn down any contract.

Maybe he had counted on her vaunted Gryffindor courage to see her through.

Maybe he was laughing at her even now.

--

Draco wasn't laughing. He sat, ensconced deep within the administrative lair at the top of FerrousCo's office sector, watching intently on the CCTV as Hermione toured the plant.

FerrousCo was a high tech industrial firm, designing and building components for a wide array of modern muggle machinery. Their main clientele consisted of the medical-device industry, for whom they contracted to build stents, mechanical hearts, dialysis machines, MRI machines. . . You name it, at some point they had probably worked on the prototype or manufactured some part of whatever. Because they didn't focus on any one product, they were often retooling their plant, changing the processing, using different chemicals, various heavy metals. Thus, their pollution spectrum could vary widely from one quarter to the next. They needed flexibility in their solution. They plainly needed a great deal of help. They'd been indicted recently for illegal dumping, after outflow from the plant had exceeded the maximum and some enterprising fool had tried to hide the evidence. Moreover, they were wasting millions of dollars purchasing international emissions credits for their massive carbon footprint.

It was not the sort of problem that you'd think a reputable company would address by seeking out a tiny consulting firm run by one young woman. It wasn't the sort of problem that should be solvable by such a firm. Until you took into account just who that consultant was and what her "advice" truly consisted of.

Draco watched the on the monitors as Hermione meticulously examined the plant's waste disposal facilities, pored over schematics with his team of engineers, and jotted down pages and pages of notes in an old-fashioned notebook. He let himself remember how he had eventually stumbled across her work.

--

After returning from the farm in Wales, Draco had researched all the man had said and confirmed the essential details of the story. Something had niggled at the back of his consciousness as he read the names of the firms at the industrial park that had been involved in the investigation. Finally he'd realized that it was familiar because he had shares in one of those companies too. Not majority shares, no, not in a muggle company, but a significant enough minority, that it would not look too peculiar if he were to take a little visit there and find out what had really gone down.

"Oh yeah. The higher ups really got their knickers in a twist." The senior engineer who'd been assigned to babysit the visiting VIP obviously relished the embarrassment of management at the near-disaster that had been the smack-down administered by the ministry. "They were running around like headless chickens, all panicked about how to hide the problems from people like you. Guess that didn't work so well, huh? If they'd done like we told them 8 years ago we wouldn't have been in that mess in the first place!"

"Really?" Draco lifted one skeptical brow. He wished the damned muggle would just get to the point, but he had to be polite. This man was far more informative (read, gossipy) than the bureaucratic PR zombie he'd been trying to escape all morning.

"Hell, yes! Pardon my language, sir. But you see, eight years ago, we had an intern here. Brightest intern I ever met. An absolute whiz at the computer. In just 10 weeks here, she wrote a program that modeled our wastewater production and predicted the 10 year trend. We told the damned VEEPs, but they didn't believe us. "Just a college kid" they said. Just an error-filled model. Idiots couldn't recognize genius if it bit them in the ass. I suppose it didn't help that she talked like a textbook and ordered them around like they were unruly children."

Still, Draco was only listening with half an ear. More attuned to the fact that the company administration was a bunch of fuck-wits, than to the details of the story.

"Was the prediction correct?"

"Near enough. Near enough. I still have the printouts. When she left us at the end of that summer, she'd moved beyond the predictions, and was trying to find ways to cut down on the wastes. The big shots vetoed everything we came up with. We would have had to invest millions in R+D to come up with new reclamation and filtration systems. The technology just wasn't there at the time. But it still would have been cheaper in the long run than what we've spent to date on clean-ups and fines. Even taking into account inflation and all." The man shook his head in disgust. "Better late than never, I suppose."

"So what did you do?"

"Oh well, that's the ironic part." He grinned in icy amusement. "That intern I was telling you about? She started her own firm a few years back. "Pollution Solutions." She develops and adapts waste reclamation and filtration technologies. She mainly does atmospheric pollutants, but when I heard from a friend of mine that his firm had hired her to work on their waste chemical processing, I knew we had to get her over here."

"You mean, you didn't go to an established company, but a bloody freelancer?" Draco couldn't believe it. "And just who okayed such a stupid move?"

"Nobody." The engineer smiled smugly. "While the higher-ups were diddling around in negotiations over a contract with one of those so-called established agencies, we persuaded a couple of the mid-level managers to "liberate" some discretionary funds from projects that were under budget or on hold, and we hired her ourselves. Being a freelancer and all, she doesn't charge much."

"But what did you actually get?" Draco was confused. This was not how large corporations were supposed to act. He knew that. Not in an orderly, sane world. Even in the muggle world. Make that, Especially in the muggle world.

"She came, checked out the damages. We told her what needed fixing most critically. She told us if she could help and to what extent. Then she built individualized units for our plant, which she leases to us and maintains, for a very reasonable fee."

"Yeah, right." Draco didn't believe it.

"Come see for yourself. We got it all taken care of before the big bosses had a chance to know what hit them. Then even they had to sign off on what we did. Because it works. It fucking works. I don't know how, but it does. I almost lost my job, but it was worth it just to see the shock on their faces."

Draco let himself be led down into the bowels of the factory. He didn't really understand what he was looking at. While he could use some muggle tools, all this industrial machinery was completely beyond him.

"So, this is it!" The man waved his arm cheerfully at the room full of whirring pumps and pipes and vats and Draco didn't know what all else.

"But what it is?"

"Even I don't understand it. But the manual is over there."

"Draco cautiously threaded his way between the coils and weird filters to where the man had pointed. But on the way over, he tripped and stumbled into some piece of humming equipment. He reached out his arm to steady himself, and felt a very distinct tingle run up his hand. Like static electricity, only not. A tingle he recognized quite well. Magical energy. Draco reached out and touched the thing again. Yes. Definitely magic. And a potent spell at that. But what it was or what it was doing, he had not a single bloody clue.

And then, as he turned around again, everything clicked into place. A girl. Nearish his age from the description. Talked like a textbook. Genius. Bossy. Magic.

"Just what did you say this consultant's name was, again?"

"Pollution Solutions."

"No." Draco grit his teeth in frustration. "The Girl. Her Name."

"Oh. Of course." The engineer seemed completely oblivious to the sudden tension in Draco's posture, the way his fingers clenched, itching to reach for his wand. "Granger, that's her name. Hermione Granger."

--

It hadn't taken long after that to get Granger's business address. Still, what he really wanted to know, was what exactly were these convoluted machine-magic hybrids doing? And why had she disappeared for over a decade to wind up in such an unlikely vocation? He'd asked if the company had ever tried to reverse-engineer one of her devices, but the engineer demurred. "No way! Someone over at TechnoToys tried that, I heard. I have a friend there and he said it exploded, but that it was the strangest explosion he'd ever seen. The whole room self-destructed from what I was told, but no one was hurt. It was even in the contract. No tampering, and Pollution Solutions accepts no responsibility over damage incurred due to misuse of their equipment. Etc. etc. etc. Of course, being that it is a rival company, my friend _might_ have been lying. Take all this with a grain of salt, if you will."

"Was there a lawsuit?"

"No, it was the strangest thing. The next day some technicians from Pollution Solutions were over there. They replaced all the damaged equipment, as if nothing had happened, and TechnoToys just kept on using it. There must have been some bribes involved somewhere along the line. I mean, how else do you hush something that major up? But, really, it's a mystery to me."

After that, Draco had decided that the only way to get more information was to actually get his hands on her equipment.

He'd gone about this in typical Malfoy overkill fashion, using a hostile takeover to acquire FerrousCo, as the bait. In hindsight, he supposed he should not have gone himself to meet her in her office, but he just hadn't been able to resist. The lure of the unknown was all that kept him going these days. The mystery of what she had been doing for all these years in the shadow of the muggle world.

And now she was here, and soon her mysterious devices would be installed and he could examine them to his heart's content, until he got to the bottom of the enigma.

--

Hermione shook her head in disbelief as she walked out of FerrousCo's plant and started her (heavily modified) muggle car. She hadn't seen Malfoy once in her entire visit, nor sensed his disillusioned presence (and she was usually hyperaware of her surroundings as only a war survivor can be). She supposed he must have been monitoring her on the closed circuit or something, but she still had no idea what he was up to, and that simply irked her to no end. Maybe he wanted to steal her designs? Maybe he wanted to bust her, with all her illicit and potentially quite hazardous mixture of magic and technology, and try to bring down her little company? Maybe he just wanted to drive her crazy with wondering. Well, she had defenses against all these things, as he would see if he tried to fuck with her. No one fucked with Hermione Granger when she set her mind to something. No one.

Admittedly, she thought as her mind detoured on a tangent she often tried to forget, no one fucked Hermione Granger either. But you can't have everything you want.

--

The modification and install process two weeks later went smoothly as well, Hermione herself, and two of her muggle technicians set up her equipment and went over the detailed service schedule with the company engineers. Everything she told them sounded plausible. And almost all of it was complete bollocks. Several times during the installation and information session, Hermione felt a vague sense of unease, as if she were being watched, and once, she was sure she felt the pressure of an abortive attempt at legilimens.

"Honestly!" She burst out when she felt that subtle push between her eyes, "Do you really think I wouldn't have taken that into account?" Fortunately, some company suit had also just stopped by to ask some particularly stupid question, and her outburst went unremarked. Even Draco, lurking, disillusioned, in the back of the room, wasn't entirely sure if her words were meant for him, until her eyes briefly flicked over in his general direction, as if she were truly aware of his presence.

Draco only felt one small surge of triumph when he managed to slip a small muggle tracking device onto her clothing as she departed. It really was fascinating what a wide array of tools there were that could not be detected by magic.

After Granger had gone, Draco immediately joined the throng of suits, scruffy engineers and factory drones milling around dubiously, staring at the room full of esoterica that they had been assured was the solution to all their waste problems. Now if only any of them could figure out how it was supposed to work.

Draco grabbed one of the senior engineers and started dragging him around the room, interrogating him for his opinion on every tube, chamber, and pump.

"What do you suppose this does?"

"It looks like a fluid intake valve. I think?"

"And where does it go?"

"Into the pressure chamber over. . . there."

"What comes out of the pressure chamber?"

"I think. . . Yeah, that piping there is for steam collection, and I think that one there carries the dehydrated sludge to stage 2."

"Which is?"

"As far as I can tell, in that chamber there, there are supposed to be baffles coated with a catalytic substrate that precipitates out the barium."

"And then?"

On and on it went, all sounding almost plausible, except that Draco could feel the thrum of magic throughout. Catalytic substrate, his ass. Granger was cheating. He was beginning to suspect that if you read through all the technobabble in her patent applications what you would find was that she'd simply made up spells to do all these functions and then gave them plausible chemical or muggle technology-ish names. Clever. But not more clever than him.

"What would you need to be able to reverse-engineer this and build a version of our own without deconstructing any of this equipment?" Draco thought he may as well pose the question, even though there wasn't a chance in hell the muggle would ever really understand Granger's device.

"Well," The engineer paused and scratched his chin dubiously, "A copy of the blueprints. The patent application. And even then I don't know. Someone who'd actually worked on the design?"

"Hmmm. . ." Draco had contacts in the Ministry, he was sure he could get a copy of the magical patent application. Knowing Granger, there would probably be a muggle version as well. With a little confounding and liberal application of his personal charm, he could probably get those as well.

Simply asking Granger was not an option at this time. However, Draco let himself feel a brief warm glow of inner contentment at the knowledge that even now he was tracking her whereabouts and could corner her again at his convenience.

ToBeContinued

--Continuing to set new lows for total hits! At this rate, once I finish posting the bits I already wrote, I won't be bothered to finish this. Won't matter if it really is as big a failure of a fic as the low ping rate seem to suggest. You say nothing to me, and I will say nothing for you. –cm--


	4. A sore loser

**Chapter 4 – A sore loser**

Several weeks later, Draco's attempt to understand how Granger's device did what it did, was going nowhere. Her technicians had been by to "service" it once, and he'd had them watched like a hawk, but all they seemed to be doing was replacing filters and the so-called "catalytic units." Worse, they seemed to have no clue about what they were doing besides the minimum needed to disassemble the relevant bits, or what happened to the parts they serviced after they returned them to Granger's receiving dock.

As expected, the patent applications had all his engineers and chemists even, shaking their heads and trying to muddle their way through Granger's obviously obfuscative maths. Draco did have to give the clever bitch credit, she was as good at hiding her secrets as any Slytherin. But he wasn't going to concede that he might have met his match. No way in hell.

It was thus, late one night after a day spent dealing with his other holdings, that Draco could no longer contain his curiosity and his impatience. He'd had the tracer he planted monitored, and located the places that Granger seemed to spend the most time: her office, and some location outside of Oxford that he assumed was where she must have a flat. He had the GPS coordinates, which meant that he could drive there, or, he could use a technique he'd recently learned to apparate to a place he'd never been. It was risky, yes, but what was life without a few risks? He'd much rather surprise Granger if he was going to interrogate her, than simply knock on her door and walk in. Granger was not the only one who could create novel charms and blend muggle and magical technology. He hadn't been second in their class in school just for his good looks and charm, after all.

Draco quickly logged onto his computer and plugged the coordinates into GoogleEarth. He studied the images closely, and muttered an incantation of his own devising, incorporating the GPS coordinates as he traced complex patterns in the air with his wand, and taking a deep breath as the last syllable fell from his lips, apparated. . . .

. . . Straight into a full body-bind.

He opened his mouth to curse, only to realize that no sound was coming out. He tried to break the bind with a wandless, silent spell, but knew the futility in that even as he railed against the indignity in his own mind.

From where he was frozen, Draco could see part of a small room, dimly lit, with shabby carpeting that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. There was cat hair and wire bits, tiny glints of solder, metal filings and who knew what else. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see floor to ceiling makeshift shelving packed with books and scrap metals and bins of something he couldn't make out. The one source of light in the room was coming from somewhere outside of his field of vision on the right. If this was Granger's flat than she sure needed a new interior designer. Or a maid.

Draco sighed soundlessly, he knew he'd fucked up. Hadn't father told him time and again he was no good at this spy shit? It just wasn't fair. He was intelligent, a great businessman. He could have been a superb politician if his family name weren't still in the shitter. He was a Malfoy, for fucks sake, he should be able to do anything that he set his mind to. Getting thwarted by the bushy-haired girl-who-couldn't-even-get-laid-by-Weasley was just humiliating, especially with all the memories of school it brought back.

Surprisingly, his silent sigh was echoed by a vocalized one and the slight rustling of papers off to his right.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Hermione sighed. It had been a long day, and she still had a long night ahead of her before she could let herself sleep. She'd figured Malfoy would be paying a visit at some point, but why, oh why did it have to be tonight? She sighed again, and levitated Malfoy's tracking device into his field of vision. "I wasn't born yesterday, you know. There's a reason my side won the war."

Draco felt his hackles rising at her taunt and struggled all the more furiously to free himself.

"No, no," Hermione admonished tiredly, "You're not going anywhere just yet. After all, you just got here. I've got to finish this and then we'll have a little chat." She bent back to the task she'd been working at. For a long time the only sound in the room was the tapping of her fingers on a keyboard, or the occasional click of a mouse, and a quiet rustle of papers. Draco could do nothing but seethe as Granger ignored him. Hell, he couldn't even see the bloody bitch, and his neck was getting stiff. The bitch was so going to pay when he got out of this.

Finally, Hermione stood up from her desk and pulled a chair up to where Draco hung trussed in the air. "Now then, Malfoy," she remarked, "Don't you know how to knock? Possibly call in advance? If you wanted to talk to me, you have my business card. . .

"Still, I can't say I'm surprised. I expected you to turn up sooner or later. I hope the work I've done for you at FerrousCo met your expectations? I'm gratified that you haven't seen fit to publicize the nature of my business. But I'm curious. Have you figured out what it's all for yet? Or are you still dreaming of trying to publicly humiliate me? Hmm?"

Absently, she pulled her wand out of her hair and flicked it at Malfoy, dispelling the silencing charm that had kept him so quiet.

Draco stared at the woman sitting before him, and suddenly his mind went blank. Why was he here anyway? If he had to be totally honest with himself, he didn't have a good reason. He was merely bored and curious, and nothing had motivated him in years so much as his investigation of Granger. But now that he was here, what did he want?

Did he want to bring her down?

No, not really. Even at his most pissy, he recognized the worth of her creations

Did he want to know how they worked?

Again, it would be interesting, but he wasn't an engineer or charms expert. When you got down to it, he just didn't care that much. Especially, as her just telling him would take the fun and the challenge out of it.

What he wanted. . . What he wanted was not to be bored.

Draco looked at Granger, really looked. There she sat, in thin cotton pajama pants and a ragged camisole top that looked like it had seen better days. Her clothes were battered and well worn, with what appeared to be the occasional burn hole or tear to decorate them. They hung loosely off her thin frame, accentuating the angles of her bones, and her sad lack of cleavage. Her frizzy hair was twisted back, and partially held in place by what appeared to be a pencil and a wand. Even from this distance, and in this poor light, Draco could still make out the thin, shiny, slightly raised scar that wound across her collarbone and across the soft skin of her breast to disappear beneath the flimsy edge of her top. The scars on her hand and arm and shoulder too, were clear, as if she couldn't even be bothered with the simplest concealing charm to hide her battle scars.

In his opinion, Granger looked bad. He couldn't remember much of the night they'd held the trio captive during the war, but he didn't think she'd looked this worn or worried then. Even during her torture session with Aunt Bella. Age had not treated Granger kindly.

And then He knew. Absolutely knew. That whatever Granger was up to, wasn't just a mystery with which to pass the time. It was crucial. It was key to something. Even he knew that muggle pollution was dangerous, after all, that was how he'd stumbled onto her in the first place. But she knew more. She was up to something big. Something huge. What else could have aged her so? And he was the only one who knew. Of all the people in the world, he could feel it in his bones. He was the only one to confront Granger.

"I want in." the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Hermione laughed. Really and truly laughed, doubling over even further at the murderous look on Malfoy's face.

"You want 'in'?" She hiccupped incredulously when she finally found her voice again. "You want in? Even if you did know what I'm doing, why would I want to involve you? If I recall correctly, you spent much of my youth tormenting me and those I care about, your family fought on the wrong side to destroy everything good we had. Because of you and your inadequacies, Dumbledore died. I have never had any reason to like you, much less trust you. I used to despise and pity you, and I was content to never see your face again. And now you say you "want in?" What, did crucio scramble your brains one time too many?"

"Fourteen years. Granger." Malfoy snarled, desperately trying to rein in his hot temper, "Fourteen years. Do you want to tell me that you're still the prissy encyclopedia-quoting too-perfect, stick-up-her-ass ice princess you were as a child? If so, then I pity you. But some of us are capable of personal growth. Some of us became adults, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Prove it." Granger challenged, standing up, her arms crossed defensively underneath her small breasts. Slowly, she pulled her wand from her hair once more, and, staring in his stony eyes the whole time, released the body bind that held Malfoy imprisoned at her door.

Draco stumbled, as feeling returned to his limbs. His first impulse was to grab his wand and retaliate on Granger for her words and actions, but she was looking at him still, defiance etched in her tensed muscles, challenge in her eyes. Her wand was held deceptively still, but he knew that her wary stance could shift to that of a dueler in moments. It was a test, and he would not be deceived.

Sure, he knew he could out-duel that little chit of a girl, but that was what she expected, what she wanted. And he would be damned if he was going to rise to the bait.

Deliberately he stretched, looked around her hellhole-cum-mad-scientist's-lair of a flat, and strode gracefully over to a sagging couch located near her disaster area of a desk.

"All right then, Granger," Draco didn't even need to look at her to know she was just seething at the way he made himself at home in her territory. He gracefully settled himself into the no-doubt filthy and disgusting cushions and stretched out insouciantly, before continuing. "Here's how it is. I know you're up to something big. Sure you have this environmentally friendly company cleaning up muggle messes one factory at a time, but you didn't need to vanish for 14 years to do that. You. . . wait." Draco's brow creased as he realized something else, "You, what you're doing. . . you could just. . ."

"Yes." Hermione finally let herself relax enough to move back over to her comfortable chair and flop into it. "I thought you'd figured it out earlier." It was an admission and a thinly veiled taunt all in one.

"You don't need to build these monstrosities!" Draco pointed a finger at Granger in stunned accusation, "You're a witch. If you really cared about muggle pollution, you could just create a charm to clean it up without involving the muggles at all."

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" Granger acknowledged with a small nod. It was, surprisingly. . . pleasant. . . to find someone with the wit to understand what she was on about. Too bad that somebody had to be a Malfoy.

". . . You're not the only muggle-born witch in the world." Draco glared at her again, "So you can't be the only one to think of the damage they do."

"And unlike certain homicidal half-bloods, I don't think the solution is extermination. . ."

"So. . . ." Draco mused, "Either you can't do it. Or there's another reason. Why couldn't you do it?"

"You're asking the right questions." Hermione allowed herself a grim smile. It would have to be the former bane of her existence to ask such her such things. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" She took Draco's silence for assent and rose to put the kettle on. While she busied herself in the kitchen, Draco thought furiously and hard. Why would she deliberately create such potentially disastrous hybrids of magic and technology? What could she hope to gain? What was she up to that was so big that she was killing herself with the effort of going it alone?

He refused to admit that he couldn't quite grasp the logic of her actions. He would figure it out. He would make her tell him. And he would get involved. With whatever it was.

"Don't think so hard!" Hermione called from the kitchen, as she carried the tray with her tea things back into the room, "You look like your brain might explode. Why don't you just go back to your corporations and boardrooms and the stuff you're good at, and leave this to me."

"You think you can get rid of me that easily?" He lifted a skeptical eyebrow

"It was worth a shot." She shrugged, sipping at her tea.

"No." Draco sat forward, ignoring the mug she passed him. "It was not. I told you before. I want in. I won't take no for an answer."

"Why?"

"I said it before. You're into something big."

"So? It's not profitable."

"I have money."

"So? Can you contribute anything else? And why should I trust you?"

"Trust? What has trust got to do with anything?" Draco sounded genuinely surprised, "That's what binding contracts are for."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I'm bored."

"That's not good enough."

"What do you want?"

"What do you think I want?"

"To change the world." Draco's eyes widened as the words dropped from his lips, seemingly without his own conscious volition. Even as he heard himself speak, he recognized the truth in his words. "That's it. Isn't it Granger? You want to change the world." It was a challenge. A dare.

"I want to **save** the world." Hermione returned his gaze levelly.

"From What?" Not how, or why, or even what made her think she could do it alone.

"Guess." She crossed her arms and leant back in her chair. Waiting.

"Pollution?"

"No."

Draco knew he had all the pieces of the puzzle. He could feel it in his bones, but it had been a long day and the answer just wasn't forthcoming. Somehow, he doubted that if he left, she'd let him come back later with the answer. This was real life. Not a take-home exam.

"Do you drink Pumpkin Juice?" Hermione's question hit Draco out of left field.

"What?"

"Do. You. Drink. Pumpkin. Juice?" She repeated herself slowly and deliberately, as if daring him to question her sanity.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the fucking question." Her patience, never one of her strong suits, was hanging by a thread

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Indeed."

"So?"

"So. Even if I wanted to tell you what I'm saving the world from, you couldn't help."

"And what the fuck does that have to do with pumpkin juice?"

"I only wish I knew."

"You are out of your flipping mind." Draco shifted as if to stand and leave, "Why am I wasting my time?"

"I asked you the same question." Hermione smiled thinly and without warmth. "I even asked myself. Why bother telling you, when all it does is waste both our times? I can't work with you and you can't work with me. Why don't you go home now?"

"No." Draco remained firm. He wasn't going to let her mind games get to him. "Tell me. What does pumpkin juice have to do with anything?"

Hermione sighed, and bent to rummage in her desk drawer, only to eventually pull out a muggle mini-voice-recorder. She clicked it on and began to speak.

Time passed. Draco was aware of listening to her, and being shocked and horrified by what she said, and even responding to some of her comments with his own thoughts, but within seconds he'd forgotten exactly what she'd said, and then he couldn't even remember the feeling of horror. It was like no time had passed.

"And that is why it matters." She clicked off the recorder with a tone of finality.

"Wait, what?" Draco could just barely remember that something had occurred, and that it was important. But no. The feeling was gone. Like waking from a dream too suddenly, and feeling it slip away even as you remember having had it.

"Exactly." Hermione rewound her tape and hit play, letting Draco listen again to the conversation that had just taken place. He was hit by a nauseating sense of déjà vu, but then, when she stopped the tape in mid-sentence, it all vanished.

"It's like getting hit by a strong confundus, isn't it?" She remarked almost absently, "I would never have gotten myself in this mess if it hadn't been for that year on the run.

"Go Home, Malfoy." Hermione stood, as if reaching a decision. "You're right, you know. I can't do this alone. But as it is, you're worse than useless to me. You can't possibly choose to get involved without knowing what you're up against. Quite frankly, I don't want you here. I don't want your help. But you're right. There's no one else. So Fuck it, I'll take a chance. No torture you could devise is worse than what's already in store. Go home Malfoy, throw out all your Pumpkin juice. And swear never to touch the stuff again. Then," she paused and quickly crossed the room to pull a thick book from her shelf, "Then you need to read this."

Draco looked with aghast disbelief at the book she dropped into his hands, "A book, Granger? You wrote a book?"

"All of 100 copies in press, yes."

"And you want me to read your little vanity project?"

"Don't you even think of coming near me again until you have." Hermione turned away. It was a clear dismissal, and Draco took it as a challenge. She didn't think he'd do it. She thought she could throw him off with riddles and games. But he would show her. He'd be back, and then the little bitch had bloody well better listen to what he had to say.

He picked up Hermione's muggle voice recorder off her desk and tucked her ridiculous tome beneath his arm, and with one final sneer in Granger's general direction, apparated away.

TBC

--I do apologize for my endlessly convoluted and illogical logic. In my mind, it all makes sense you see, I just haven't told you yet the glue that would hold it together. It would just take all the fun out of it to explain everything away in the first few chapters. (Well that, and I haven't quite bothered to work out a few of the details yet). Nevertheless, let's talk about Pumpkin juice. A plot point that will become clear in good time. But until then, all I can say is, eww... Having gutted my fair share of pumpkins in my time, as well as other squash, and cooked and eaten quite enough of them, I stand by my belief that any juice derived from a bloody pumpkin has got to have something inherently wrong with it such that an entire population would gulp the stuff. Refreshing, my ass. the mere smell of raw pumpkin makes me queasy (and I'm a pathologist, not much nauseates me). Has no one else ever wondered? Admittedly, my theory as explicated in later chapters does tend a bit towards the conspiracy paranoia end of the spectrum, but why the hell not?. . . ok, enough of that. Until next time, my confused and dubious readers, --cm--


	5. but i'll just keep my mouth shut

Chapter 5;

**But I'll just keep my mouth shut**

Draco Malfoy sat in his office staring at the infernal device he'd taken from Granger. One week later, he'd tested the fucker with every diagnostic spell at his disposal, tried every curse-breaking algorithm he knew, and he still couldn't find anything wrong with it. It remained, as it appeared, a perfectly ordinary, if somewhat old-school, muggle tape recorder.

One week. He'd left himself memo after memo to listen to the thing. And every day, he did. Still, he could not remember any of it. He'd scoffed at Granger's insistence that he stop drinking pumpkin juice. Everyone drank pumpkin juice. Everyone. It was nutritious and tasty. It was part of morning routine, a thirst quencher after a game of Quidditch, a mixer for cocktails. It was as much a part of his diet as water. What on earth could something so ubiquitous, so harmless, have to do with anything?

No, he'd told himself that Granger was just trying to play head games with him, and that her command was simply to throw him off the scent. He was sure she had to have ensorcelled him, or the tape recorder, something.

Yet, seven days later, he'd found nothing and was no closer to solving her riddles. It was time to suck up his pride and his doubt, and do what she had ordered.

With a sour grimace, Draco commanded his house elves to trash all pumpkin products in the kitchen, and to cease all purchases of any gourd-related produce or food products. The elves had been shocked, but knew from long and bitter experience not to cross a Malfoy Master.

The next day, he'd played that damned tape again. At the end of it, he still felt like he'd been hit by one hell of a confundus hex, but he thought maybe the fog might be starting to clear a little, like the answer was a word that was just on the tip of his tongue, or a bubble trying to rise up from his subconscious. How bizarre.

He felt cravings for his usual beverage, and had to consciously think and stop himself from ordering his hapless house elves to go and get him some right now. It wasn't like a caffeine craving, but it was still an obvious absence, a hole in his gut that he couldn't seem to fill. But he grit his teeth and persevered. He couldn't let Granger show him up again. Especially not in such a stupid thing as this.

Sunday was the worst, when he visited the Manor for his monthly brunch with his parents, during which his father nitpicked at the way he was running their businesses, and griped about the sorry state of politics and the economy and fuck all. Honestly, if it sucked that much, maybe he should just go back to Azkaban. Draco hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn't help the bitter thoughts that occasionally crossed his mind. Mother was not much better, harassing him about his continued bachelorhood and was he sure he was eating right, and why wasn't he touching his pumpkin juice or pumpkin quiche the elves had made especially for him. It was enough to drive a man mad.

Every day, he listened to the tape, and every day he could feel the words starting to penetrate deeper into his awareness, even as the tape began to wear thin. Finally, 10 days after he'd gone on his no-squash diet, he realized he knew what she was saying. As if he had known it all along. Awareness washed through him like a cold wave, colder even than a Dementor's touch. It couldn't be true. Granger had to be insane. It was a joke. Or a mistake.

Because if what she said were true, then what was the point of anything at all?

Draco clenched his fists and thought about beating down Granger's door, and forcing her to admit it was a farce. Though the twisting sensation in his gut told him it couldn't be a joke, and Granger didn't make mistakes like that. Instead, he controlled himself, took a deep breath and a slug of firewhiskey, cancelled his appointments for the day, and opened Granger's book.

--

"Is it true?" Draco stood in the doorway of Granger's office. This time, he had made an appointment and come by during normal business hours. He'd decided that they had enough he wanted to discuss, and that required scheduled time. Otherwise, she was as like to ignore him as talk.

"Unfortunately." Hermione sighed. "Why don't you come in and shut the door?"

Draco strode across the room and unceremoniously dropped her book and recorder on her messy desk. His jaw was set in an angry line, and he glared as if everything were all Hermione's fault.

"I want answers, Granger."

"So do we all." Hermione, leaned forward in her chair and stared intently at Malfoy, "I wish I had more."

"You wrote a book, Granger. A book no one will ever read. A book no one can possibly remember reading. And I want to know why!" He slammed his hand angrily against the wood surface, hard enough to make the papers stacked everywhere shift and fall.

"Would you have believed me if I just told you? Would anyone?" She challenged, as calmly as she could.

"Of course not. The very thought is ludicrous. We're wizards, how can we be nearing extinction. We are the most powerful creatures on the planet!"

"So were the dinosaurs, and look what happened to them." Hermione snorted.

"They became dragons, so what?" Draco looked confused at her comparison.

"Not most of them. Most of them died. And the dragons are just as endangered as us now, anyway."

"So?"

"So, you read my book. Did you check my references?"

"You know I did."

"And?"

"The censuses show our population disappearing. Our cities are shrinking." Draco's voice was shaking ever so slightly, but Hermione couldn't tell if it was in anger or in fear. "And nowhere, in no newspaper, scientific journal, nowhere, does anyone mention the fact! Nowhere!"

"Indeed." Hermione nodded.

"And what the bloody fuck is up with the pumpkin juice?" Draco stood and began pacing the room.

"I've asked myself the same thing many times." Hermione nodded, pleased, despite herself, that he was still asking the right questions. She'd been surprised when he'd returned, surprised that he'd made the effort she'd requested, and that he was willing to talk almost as equals. Whatever games he had wanted to play when he first found her had seemed to fly right out of his mind. Perhaps time had indeed changed him from the petulant, sniveling child she had used to know.

"Is it causing infertility? How is it affecting us? I tried every curse-breaking technique I know and I couldn't find anything wrong with it. It's just juice! But juice doesn't make you forget! It's got to be a conspiracy!" Draco stopped his pacing momentarily and spun to face Granger, "And when I find out who is responsible, I will personally kill them, with my bare hands, if need be." His voice was low and dangerous and full of malice, and even Hermione felt a shiver run through her, glad that she was not the target of such hatred.

"Yeah well," Hermione forced herself to sound casual, "I haven't found who is responsible yet." Honestly, she'd been so busy, she'd never been able to properly research the question, "But I do have some theories." Oh yes, she had theories. Plenty of them, and none of them boded well for the human race, "The only thing I'm pretty sure of, is that whoever is responsible for imbuing pumpkins with this amnestic property, is only taking advantage of the circumstances."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think the decline in the magical population is due to 'natural causes.' I'm pretty sure why there are fewer and fewer magical creatures and peoples, and it has nothing to do with pumpkins. But someone, or someones, don't want us to know that we're dying off."

"Obviously." Draco snorted, "But, Granger. You may be lucky, but you're not that lucky. You can't be the only person to not drink pumpkin juice. You can't be the only person to have noticed the problem. What about other mudbloods? They weren't raised on the stuff like proper wizards."

"Malfoy. Watch your mouth." Hermione frowned, "It's not that simple. Do you think kids are going to notice this shit? The second they hit school, they're indoctrinated in wizarding foods, and customs, and you better bet they conform. If only to make assholes like you leave them alone. It's bad enough to be dropped in an alien world without learning that a bunch of inbred snobs despise you because you're different. So no. I can't think of a single person in school who didn't drink the stuff. It's the cheapest drink on the market. Even prisoners get it, as you well know." She added pointedly, "It was one of the things Ron missed most when we were on the run. And then, we hardly had the time or energy to think about anything other than how we were going to overcome the lack of information that gray-bearded asshole Dumbledore left us with, and kill the crazed maniac who was out for our blood. When the war was won, I was the only one who didn't start eating normally again. At first, it was just because I craved the foods of my childhood after so long on starvation rations, and then, I made my observations for the first time. One day, in the middle of my researches, I drank a glass of pumpkin juice, and I almost threw my notes away, since they suddenly meant nothing to me. Fortunately, the next day, I spent in the muggle world, and then I realized something was wrong.

"But I'm not most people, Malfoy. Do you really think most people would compile pages and pages of notes and leave piles of research on the subject around to be reminded by? No, most people might have a random thought in passing, that they'd never even miss having. Some might never even notice anything wrong in their world, even without the damned juice. In case you hadn't noticed, Malfoy, wizards, as a general rule, seem to be a pretty shortsighted group, and magic is not appreciably associated with any kind of smarts.

"Besides, I suspect that whoever is responsible for the enchantment on the juice just disappears anyone who starts to notice what's going on. I keep quiet, and hide in the muggle world. So far, I've been lucky. But now that's all got to change."

"And speaking of which," Draco interrupted, "just what do you plan to do about this whole mess? And what in Merlin's name does muggle pollution have to do with anything?"

"It's in the book." Hermione pointed one calloused finger at the object in question, "Chapter 7, page 237 and onwards."

"Yes, but not in English." Draco sneered, "What the fuck's with the equations? It's not arithmancy. It's not any maths I know."

"There are diagrams." Hermione supplied, a small smile playing about the edges of her mouth at his frustration.

"Stop playing games! Don't you think this is important? Don't you realize you're talking about the end of the world? So stop sitting there so smug and high and mighty, and do something about it."

"I am, Malfoy." Hermione straightened up in her chair and glared right back at him, "I can't explain it to you in any meaningful way. You don't have the maths. You don't know physics."

"I'm not stupid, Granger. You're the fucking know-it-all, I'm sure in your infinite wisdom, you can explain this so that it makes sense. Without the maths. Or do you just not want to share your precious little secrets?"

"Fine." Hermione finally snapped, and got out of her chair to pace the room, nervous energy pouring off her in waves. She'd never ever tried to explain her researches to anyone, and she wasn't sure she knew where to begin. "At first, I thought the population was declining because of inbreeding. All you stupid purebloods breeding us right out of existence. But the numbers of muggle-born wizards is also down. So I thought, what if magic was a non-renewable resource, and we were running out of it. But the histories and few known tracts on the matter don't support that either. What it is, is like. . . rain. Or just water. Like muggle rainforests—As long as the trees are there, the rain will fall. Remove the trees, and the rain stops. Trees need the rain to grow, water only falls where humidity is retained by the plants."

"We're not trees, Granger." Draco didn't know much about rainforests, and he really didn't care.

"No, we're not. But we do need magic, and magic only accumulates and, well, saturates, us, or plants, or animals, when there is a critical biomass of magical beings present. Or at least that's what I believe."

"And what does pollution have to do with this?"

"Apparently plants that absorb or create magical energy are sensitive to a wide variety of toxins and heavy metals. I'm not a biologist, don't ask me how." Hermione held up a commanding hand to forestall the questions she could see forming on the tip of Malfoy's tongue. "And it's not just plants, but also people. Wizards residing in or near major cities or in highly polluted areas have a higher than average rate of squibs born to them. Wait. It gets worse." Hermione stopped her pacing, to look Malfoy dead in the eye, "The thing about rainforests applies here as well. Ever since the magical/ muggle segregation the enclaves of magic; people (including non-human people), creatures, and plants, have clustered and concentrated. There are huge swaths of country everywhere, overrun with nothing but muggle flora and fauna, since we so foolishly went into hiding. We've created a magical desert, and it will destroy us."

"I don't believe it." Draco slammed his fist on the desk. "Where is your proof? If it was true, surely someone else, older, wiser, more experienced, would have discovered all this before now. I don't believe you can know any of this, when you've been living as a muggle for so many years."

"You think I'm joking?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, as she watched Malfoy fume. "I only wish I were."

"No." Draco's mind was working overtime. There was just too much to process, and too few hard facts on which he could rely. "You're wasting my time. I came here for answers and you play games."

"No. Malfoy. I never play games." Hermione frowned, "You see, I lost my sense of humor long ago. And you've now worn out my patience. "If you are to blind to see, then that's your problem. I answered all your questions, which I needn't have done. Take it as you will. If you don't believe me, then you are free to leave at any time. If you'd like to rationally critique my work, then go do the research yourself." She really would have loved to have someone with whom to bounce ideas off of all these years she'd slaved away on her theories and calculations with no one to share with, no one to talk to. Genius truly was lonely.

Draco wanted to disbelieve her so much. From the very pit of his soul, he wanted Granger to be lying to him, to be mistaken. But he remembered the walking encyclopedia that she had been as a child. If she said she'd done the research, then her facts were correct. Her theories might be wrong; as he hoped they were, but the essentials she'd based it on would be accurate. And even that much, he suspected, was enough to damn them all. He found he couldn't help but believe.

"So, Granger. All that being as it may, tell me, just how were you planning to save the world?"

"Not me." Hermione replied, almost casually, as she came to a decision, and reached up with one hand to pull out the pencil she always wore tucked into her hair. "Us. . . .

"_Imperio_."

To be Continued.


	6. Yelling with my mouth shut

Chapter 6:

**Yelling with my mouth shut**

"Seven inches of cedar, with a graphite and clay core." Hermione mused slowly, looking down at the pencil in her trembling hand. "Admittedly, not your standard wand material, and strange things happen if you try to cast spells through the eraser end, but in a pinch, it'll do." Nobody expects a pencil to be a weapon. A pen maybe, but "the pencil is mightier than the sword?" Not so much.

Draco could feel the magic of the imperius constricting his mind, smothering his conscious volition. He'd cast imperio before, he knew how it worked, how to use it. But never, ever had he expected to know what it felt like to be compelled by it. He fought back, straining against the magic, trying to exert control over himself again.

It was a weak curse, Hermione knew. Pencils were not intended to be wands, and they didn't channel magic well. She just hoped it would hold for the few minutes she needed to bind him more securely to her cause. She would work fast. Quickly, she outlined the situation as she saw it, spoke her commands to Malfoy, drew her real wand, and swore him to an unbreakable vow. She could see the fury burning in his eyes with every clause she made him speak, but he could not disobey. She was thorough, he'd grant her that. Who else would have ever thought to make an unbreakable sound like a fucking legal document?

No witnesses. Draco fought the fog clouding his brain to remember if the oath was valid without a third party witness. Was there any out?

"I'm sorry, I really am." Hermione's voice was shaking as the last tendrils of the spell glowed and dissolved in the air between them. "The magic doesn't know. The magic doesn't care. A Vow under coercion is still a vow." She backed up slowly, and sank heavily into her chair, still staring at the pencil in one hand. She made a fist around the offending implement and used her thumb to snap the pencil in half, driving a splinter of wood deep into her palm, destroying the evidence of her unforgivable, and dissolving the imperius.

Draco stared as if fascinated while the broken pencil loosed its weak magic as a thread of red smoke in the air. He could feel the manacles chaining down his volition dissolve and fade away, even as Hermione turned in her chair and began to retch violently.

Good. Let the bitch suffer. He wanted so badly to kill her, to hurt her and disgrace her for the violation she had forced upon him. He couldn't hurt her, it was in the damned unbreakable. Not by his own hands, by weapon, or words or deeds, or third party agent. He couldn't speak of what she had done to him, couldn't hint or slander or even spread untrue tales about her. He could yell, though, and yell he did.

Draco surged from his chair and pounded her desk as if possessed by demons. He threw her flatscreen monitor to the floor and tore her paperwork. He ranted and cursed at her, all the insults he could muster, all the hate and vitriol. Hermione took it all in, sat there, waiting until her shaking and retching had passed, and waited.

She'd used an unforgivable. She had. It had been so much easier than expected. That rush of power, the bending of his mind to her will. So very easy. She still felt sick to the base of her soul. She thought she understood the temptation of the dark now. How it could be so simple just to slip a little, give in to temptation, give in to sin and the soul-corrupting dark. It would solve all her problems to have an army at her feet, all the manpower she could ever need. She told herself that was not why she'd done it. She told herself it was because she needed an ally. She was running out of time. She had no choice. Malfoy knew the problem now. He knew what was at stake. He'd said he wanted in. He could have chosen to help in the end. Maybe. But she couldn't accept maybe. He had to help. There was no one else, and no time to find a better option. She'd simple _had_ to ensure his cooperation.

"Are you even listening to me!" Malfoy's hands slammed down into Hermione's field of view. "You psycho bitch! Do you know what you've done? And now you have the unmitigated gall to ignore me! Do you even care what you've done to me? Of course you don't, why would you? Do you even see people as anything other than pawns? You've wasted 14 years of your life in trivialities, and now you think you can just bind me into doing your dirty work!? You could have asked. You could have. . ."

"I could have, what, Malfoy?" Hermione finally looked up, her voice rasping in her throat. "I told you what I was up against. I can't afford for you to say no. The world can't afford for you to have said no. I don't have time for arguments. I don't have time to waste in convincing you of the evidence and what needs to be done. So, I did what I needed to do." Her voice was flat and harsh and cold as ice as she hid her self-doubt and gazed with lackluster eyes at the furious man above her.

His narrow pale face was flushed and blotchy with rage, his grey eyes faintly bloodshot from the effort of trying to cast off the imperius. His sharp shoulders trembled with the urge to curse her, to hex her into oblivion, even knowing that it would be the last move he ever made. He was just this close to not caring. Fortunately, he had learned control over the years and held back. Barely.

"What had to be done? What had to be done? Did I or did I not tell you at our last meeting that I wanted in? I thought you fought on the side of light. The side of light doesn't use unforgivables!"

"I learned from Dumbledore." Hermione said without the slightest hint of sarcasm. "There is no such thing as light, only survival." Only cunning manipulation and the judicious application of pieces of the truth, "I don't trust you. I can't trust you."

"So you hobbled me!" Bound his magic to her service, bound his ambition to her cause.

"You would have done the same."

"You're no better than my father! No better than Voldemort."

"I never said I was." Hermione gazes steadily back across her desk at him. She would not apologize to him, sick as her own actions had made her. She'd hated Dumbledore too, for his oaths and schemes and manipulations, and now she was no better than him. Playing chess with other people's lives. A pawn or a knight, he still would do her bidding.

"Fuck you! Fuck you and your goddamned attitude. You think you know everything. You think you know all the answers! You know nothing!"

"It doesn't matter." Hermione said wearily as his tirade wound to a close. "You will still help me in this. We will do what must be done."

"And what would your precious Potter and Weasel think to know what you have done? How are they going to react when we begin? Do you think they would still care for you if they knew you'd cast an unforgivable? If they knew you tread on the dark side? Their perfect Gryffindor princess, tainted."

"It doesn't matter." Hermione repeated. It didn't. It couldn't. She could not let herself care.

"You're insane!" Draco stared at her, long and hard, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the office, leaving whirlwind of torn papers in his wake.

Once the door was safely closed, Hermione lay her head down on her desk, and let herself cry, for what she had lost, and for what she had gained.

--

Draco didn't quite trust himself to apparate back to his flat without splinching himself; he was just that angry. He did it anyway, and was strangely disappointed to materialize in one piece. He'd promised himself after the fall of the dark lord that he'd never be enslaved to another master again. He'd promised himself to bow to no man. To serve no master but himself. To fear no one. And now look what that little wisp of a mudblood had done.

Sure, he had not had to bow to her. There would be no kowtowing, no living in terror that she might crucio him or kill him. But, nevertheless, by imperio-ing him and forcing him into an unbreakable vow against his will, she had enslaved him. She might pretend that they were equal partners in this mad scheme of hers, but he would always know that there was a chain around his neck and a leash in her hands.

Draco poured himself a stiff drink. The finest aged muggle single malt whiskey he possessed. (Even the purebloods would be the first to admit that muggles made the best liquor. "Ogden's finest" be damned!) As the smoky, peaty liquor burned its way down his throat, he let himself remember what she'd told him while he sat in her office, commanded into silence and immobility.

"The wizarding world is doomed. Every 20 to 50 years a new Dark lord arises. Every time, the attacks on the muggle world become more blatant, more destructive. They think it's terrorists. We are terrorists. Terrorists with the ability to appear and disappear from their world at will. We wreak damage they cannot imagine, commit crimes with flame and teeth and claws and the cold touch of a Dementor. We hide, safe in our hidden enclaves, telling ourselves how much better off we are without them. We allow ourselves to despise our Muggle cousins and our Squib siblings, because we are born with something they are not. We have power. So much power.

"What do you think will happen when the next dark lord arises? Our numbers are still shrinking. Muggle technology is getting better. Sooner or later they will figure out that it is not ordinary terrorists who kill them at the dark lord's behest. Sooner or later they will learn of our existence, and how to track and find us. And what do you think they will believe? You know why the Magical world went into hiding in the first place; the witchhunts, the pogroms against our kind.

"They were afraid then. Afraid because we have power beyond their comprehension. We are gifted in ways they can only dream of.

"And now? Now they will rediscover us because a few of our madder members are killing them. Do you think they will understand? Have you seen the way they respond to perceived threats in the muggle world? Have you heard of the decade-long debacle that was Afghanistan, Iraq, the reason those fools in the States turned isolationist? They attack. They mobilize and invade and they destroy.

"If we wait that long, we will be annihilated. We cannot wait for them to discover us in the context of war. We cannot afford for the first thing they learn of the modern Wizarding world to be the existence of Dark lords and the unconstrained havoc they wreak. How our governments are powerless to stop them, how they topple like a house of cards in a hurricane.

"Even if were not for that, we cannot wait. In order to prevent the further disappearance of magic, we must disband our hidden enclaves and scatter in a worldwide diaspora. We must spread magical beings and plants over as much territory as possible if we want to survive as magical creatures.

"We must reintegrate with the muggle world. We cannot regain lost ground by remaining in hiding. Where can the dragons live if they must not be seen? Do you think our more vicious plants could exist safely besides muggle corn if the muggles had no knowledge of what they were trampling on?

"We can no longer hide. We must face the Muggle world. We must reveal ourselves. Before the next dark lord arises. Before the magic dwindles out of existence."

And that was when she bound him with her ridiculously complicated vow. To help with her scheme to reintegrate the magical world with the muggle one. Her magical pollution control equipment was only one arm of her plan – to make magic indispensable to muggles. To show how it could exist, side by side, with muggle technology, to the benefit of both societies. Another arm was what she needed his help for – his money and its influence over politics. She needed an agent or agents in the Ministry to push for a phased revocation of the act of magical segregation. To institute mandatory education on how to function in the muggle world, how to interact with muggles in a non-threatening manner. To fight for equal rights and representation for magical creatures, lest they be exterminated by frightened, xenophobic muggles. Her scheme was insanely ambitious. Her hubris must be immense to even contemplate that she could change such a hidebound institution.

Well, obviously, she had to be insane.

And now he was caught up irrevocably in her madness.

Draco poured himself another glass of whiskey, and regarded its amber depths as if they held the key to his dilemma.

On the bright side, he thought with a resigned shake of his head, he wouldn't ever be bored with his lot again.

To Be Continued.

-- whew! Finally, the exposition is done. 6 chapters of blah blah blah! (and i know, this chapter isn't the best. a little repetitive.) But! Now it's Plot time! Yay! –cm --


	7. the little nothings

Harry Potter, the man-who-kicked-a-piece-of-Voldemort-out-of-his head-and-lived-to-tell-about-it, had a headache. It was seven pm, he was supposed to be meeting Ron and Hermione for their monthly catch-up date, and he was stuck at home listening to Ginny rant. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, marrying her, that is. He'd been no good at girls and she had pursued him so long. Plus she was attractive, vivacious, and very, very determined. And now? Now he sometimes wished he'd taken a page out of Hermione's book and dumped his Weasley after the war instead of jumping into a marriage so young.

"All I asked was that you pick up some milk on the way home. How hard was that to remember? Honestly . . ."

It was his fault, he knew. He'd disappointed Ginny. She'd wanted the savior of the wizarding world, she'd wanted him in a spotlight and her beside him. Famous, adored, respected. But he hadn't been able to do that for her. In the aftermath of the war, he'd realized he couldn't go on like this. Didn't want to be an Auror, didn't want to spend his life fighting, in danger, in the public spotlight. He really didn't want to be a hero any more. He wanted quiet, peace, a solid career. He wanted normalcy, something he had never had. He'd thought marriage would be a part of that dream.

Now it was more of a nightmare.

"And father flooed today, he managed to wrangle us invitations for some Ministry Gala, I've got a sitter lined up. . ."

Ginny was domineering, didn't take no for an answer, and was fed up with his refusal to hobnob with the upper echelons of society. After all, they were rich, and what was money for but to be used? She didn't understand why he'd finished school, got himself an apprenticeship (especially in the field he'd eventually settled on), and a job.

She wanted to be like the Malfoys, Harry sometimes thought. Rich, elite, too good for honest work. A lifestyle her family had never had.

And yet, in true Weasley fashion, she also seemed determined to populate the next generation of Hogwarts students singlehandedly. He was almost relieved (and ashamed of himself for feeling so) at her latest miscarriage. Two living children was quite enough for now, thank you very much. And the twins were quite a handful at that.

"Are you listening to me? Harry James Potter! Pay attention!"

"Yes, dear." Harry sighed, "Look, can we talk about this later, I've got to meet Ron. . ."

"You'd rather spend time with my brother than with me? Or is it Hermione you really want to see?"

Oh Merlin, not this again.

"Gin, sweetie, you know how important these meetings are to me. I'll make it up to you. I promise."

"Take me to the Ministry Gala."

"All right, all right, we'll go." Anything to get this headache to cease.

Harry was pretty sure he was going to regret that soon enough, but now it was time to leave. He grabbed his cloak quickly, before Ginny could find another complaint to raise, and apparated away.

Their regular bar was bustling as always, yet it seemed that Ron had managed to secure their usual booth in the back. Late as he was, Harry noticed that Hermione was even later.

"What kept you, mate?" Ron raised his pint in greeting.

"Didn't realize the time." Harry lied. Like he was going to complain to Ron about his own sister.

"Yeah, you and Hermione both." Ron muttered.

"You know our girl, she's probably still at work."

Ron laughed, "Or reading a book somewhere. Want to bet she won't be here before 8?"

"Do you think we're going to have to go hunt her down at the office?" It had happened before.

"Better not," Ron glanced at his watch. "I can't stay out that late tonight."

"You just got here!" Harry protested.

"Yeah, but. . . "

"But what?" Hermione had finally arrived.

"Ah! There's our girl!" Ron exclaimed, interrupting whatever it was Harry had been about to say. Which was just as well, because Harry found his retort dying in his throat as Hermione approached. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Ever since he'd got Voldemort out of his head, Harry found that he was unusually sensitive to the presence of dark magic, as if, it having been a part of him for half his life had attuned him to its presence. Harry swallowed hard as his headache worsened, and forced himself to examine Hermione carefully, as she, apparently oblivious to his preoccupation sat down with a good natured,

"Shove over, Ron." and a smile that never reached her eyes. "How's Lavender? And George? Everything going ok at the shop?"

"Same old, same old." Ron averred. Much to his parents' dismay, Ron hadn't joined the Ministry after the war, nor had he enrolled in Auror training. Hell, he hadn't even tried out for professional Quidditch. The war had burned out his desire for fame and glory, his willingness to put his life on the line daily, and most especially his trust in the government or any sort of public figure. Besides, it wasn't like his grades were all that anyway. Instead, he'd buckled down and went to work as a clerk for George, occasionally helping his lonely elder brother out with new toys and wheezes. Depressed after Hermione had dumped him in favor of muggle college, he'd rebounded back to Lavender Brown, and eventually married her. He led a quiet, tame, boring life, and seemed content with that.

"Good." Hermione nodded, and turned to look a question at Harry, who shrugged apologetically, and tried his best to hide his unease.

"Ginny says 'Hi', and sorry she couldn't make it, but the babysitter bailed on us." A blatant lie, and everyone at the table knew it.

"Of course she did." Hermione sniffed disparagingly and stole a gulp of Harry's beer. "And is Lavender stopping by later?" She wasn't stupid, she could tell there was something off with Harry's behavior tonight. She could only hope it didn't actually have anything to do with her, and that if she ignored it, everything would be ok. Ron, of course was oblivious, which in this case, was exactly how she liked it.

"Hah." Harry snorted and wrest his drink away from Hermione. "You think she'd let him out of her sight for more than a few hours when he's out drinking? You gotta be kidding." Two could play the "let's pretend" game.

"Hey, mate, at least my girl can hold her liquor!"

"Oh, it's not her liquor Ginny can't hold. It's her tongue." Hermione muttered under her breath, earning a snort from Ron and a protesting squawk from Harry. There was a reason that even after all these years, the somewhat-tarnished-and-dented-golden-trio still met as a trio instead of a pentad. Hermione just rubbed other women the wrong way. Or perhaps it was just that they still didn't trust her enduring friendship with their men. Once a month the trio met and caught up over a pint or two or three. The boys would talk Quidditch and laugh and gossip about their friends and family, and Hermione would listen with half an ear, smile politely and try to use these few stolen moments to relax and pretend she led a normal life.

The evening passed quickly, but eventually Lavender gusted in as promised to collect a slightly red-faced and slurring Ron, bestowing a disapproving glare at the miscreants who'd gotten her man shitfaced without her to protect his dubious honor.

"I'm fine. Honestly," Ron protested, "It was only that one time."

"One time when he passed out in a bathroom, got locked in a bar in fucking Scotland, forgot he was a wizard and banged on the door for hours before the cleaning lady finally let him out in the morning. Yeah." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Exactly." Lavender nodded, " I have to take care of my man."

"Doesn't hurt that alcohol makes him horny, either?" Hermione put in her two cents.

"Hermione! I don't want to know." Harry yelped, as Lavender bestowed the table with a smug look and dragged the unprotesting Ron home.

"Whew." Hermione looked at her watch, "I guess it's about time for me to call it a night too."

"Hermione." Harry's voice was suddenly serious, a tone she hadn't heard from him in years.

"Harry?" She replied cautiously.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" She tried to sound genuinely surprised by the question, but Harry knew better. He'd been watching her all evening, finally noticing things that should have been apparent long before. He guessed he'd just been too wrapped up in his own woes, as selfish as Ginny always said he was. But now, he could have kicked himself for not seeing before, the smile that never reached her eyes, the gauntness of her frame and the pallor of her skin and the lackluster sheen of her tangled hair. She looked ill, and haunted, and the taint of dark magic that clung to her was enough to cause the hairs on his arm to stand on end.

"Hermione." He sighed. He really didn't have time for games, "Is there someplace we can talk?"

She didn't have to ask to know what he was getting at. but she wasn't about to cave. "It's late, shouldn't you be getting home to Ginny?"

Harry eyed his erstwhile friend. "When did you change, Hermione?" He asked slowly, wonderingly, "What happened to you?" She was so alone, so tired. He thought he was her friend, but now he realized, he had no idea what was going on in her life. No idea what she did in her spare time, who she saw, what she thought. The more he thought about it, the more he realized, she hadn't said anything of substance at their meetings for years. Vaguely, he recalled that one time years and years ago where she had tried to recruit him and Ron to some "save the world" scheme of hers. He had tuned it out, like he'd tuned out S.P.E.W. It couldn't have been that important anyway, because later, Ron hadn't been able to remember it either, and she had never mentioned it again.

"Harry." Hermione answered slowly, "You chose to live your life one way, and I don't blame you for it. You chose your path, and you have to accept the consequences of that choice, good and bad." She guessed more of his troubles with Ginny than he would ever let on. "I made a choice too, and I have to live with my consequences too."

"But what choice?" Harry was pleading now, desperate to understand his friend and how their friendship had gone so astray. "Hermione tell me. Whatever it is, you don't have to go through it alone."

"Not alone. Not anymore." Hermione smiled grimly, her lips a thin line of determination. Sadness and a hint of regret in her eyes.

"Well that's. . . ." good, he was about to say, when he caught himself, taken aback by the darkness he saw in her expression. "Wait. . . "

"Harry." Hermione cut him off, "It's been a very long day. I really need sleep. Can we please not do this now?"

He knew better. He could see her closing down, shutting him out. If they didn't do this now, he'd need veritaserum to pry the truth out of her. Hell, he'd been to her office before, he knew he couldn't get past her secretary, much less her wards. And to his dismay, he realized he didn't even know where she lived.

But if she could act and lie, then so could he. He settled the tab quickly, and walked her out to the apparition point, and then, as she turned to apparate, lashed out with seekers' reflexes, dimmed only slightly by the years, and latched on to her robes for a hair-raising side along apparition.

Hermione twisted and bucked out of his grasp as soon as she had safely rematerialized, and her wand was at Harry's throat before he even had time to ascertain if he'd splinched himself or not.

"Harry! What the hell are you trying to do? You could have splinched us both, pulling a stunt like that!" Her outrage at his behavior temporarily dulled her fear at the questions he might ask that she could not answer.

"Err. . . could you please put your wand down?" Harry raised his empty hands placatingly, and looked around. They stood outside a nondescript apartment house in an unremarkable part of town, he couldn't tell which.

Hermione cocked her head to one side as if considering whether or not to obliviate Harry, but ultimately sighed and tucked her wand away. "Well, since you're here, you may as well come on in." With that, she turned away and led Harry into the building, where Harry swore he could sense the magical pressure of her wards against his skin before she dispelled them, after an interminable wait, many complex swishes of her wand, and a silent incantation. It was peace time, why did she defend herself as if under siege? Nor was he reassured by the sight of her flat when they entered

"You live here?" He looked around at the shambles in disbelief.

"It's not that bad." Hermione demurred, as her cat, Marcel, Crookshanks' successor wound around her ankles.

Once inside, Hermione slumped into the depths of her tattered couch, where her familiar promptly hopped up into her lap and commenced purring.

"Sit down, Harry." She waved him to a seat on the other side of the couch.

"I didn't want to say it in public, but Hermione, I can feel it, you've been practicing dark magic!"

"How can you tell?" She didn't deny it, but Harry saw her tense up.

"Don't worry," He tried to placate her, "I won't tell anyone. I doubt most people would notice anything, but . . . ever since, you know. . . I can feel things like that." Of course he wouldn't tell anyone. How many rules and laws had he broken in his youth? Weren't Hermione and Ron banned for life from Gringott's because of their escapades? Who was he to judge? "It's just, you don't look well, and you never talk to us anymore. I'm your friend, Hermione, let me help you. Tell me what you're doing. Tell me why you had to use dark magic? Please." He hated the whine that crept into his voice, the sound of the petulant teen he once had been.

"Harry," Hermione began apologetically, "It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just that. . ." she paused again trying to phrase things in such a way as to ease his mind without answering his questions, ". . . I know you wanted to live a normal life. What I'm doing, it precludes any of that. I don't want to put you or Ron through any of that again."

"But I want to know!"

"Why now, though?" Hermione challenged, "21 years, Harry. That's how long we've been friends. Now honestly, how many times in all those years did you ever ask what I was reading up on, what my plans were? And, no, hounding me about my relationship with Ron back in the day so does not count."

"What do you want me to say? I'm a lousy friend? Ok, I know I am. I should have noticed long ago, I should have paid more attention. But I'm here now. I want to understand."

He sounded so sincere, so honest, and it had been so long since anyone had claimed to care about her life that Hermione couldn't help herself. She lost it completely, and began to cry.

"Oh, Hermione." Harry exclaimed. He had no idea what to do now; crying girls always freaked him out. Tentatively, he inched over to her side of the couch and rubbed her back gently. She responded by burying her head in his shoulder and sobbing all the harder. Nevertheless, Harry swore he could hear her saying through her sobs,

"I cast an unforgivable today."

Harry stiffened in shock. Dark magic he had felt, but an unforgivable? Now that he never would have guessed. She must have noticed his reaction for Hermione pulled away and began awkwardly wiping at her tears, "I had to do it. . . but I feel so. . . my soul aches. . . The books never mentioned how much it hurts."

"What Unforgivable did you use?" He just had to ask. But she just shook her head,

"It's better if you don't know.

"Bullshit! Don't give me that crap!" He'd heard (or rather, not heard) enough of that from Dumbledore in his youth. Angry now, Harry got up from the couch and began pacing around the apartment, poking at the odds and ends of equipment as if they would solve the riddle for him. Finally, looking back at Hermione's crumpled and ill-appearing figure on the couch, he found a moment of inspiration, and stalked to the bathroom, where he flung open the door and rummaged through her potions cabinet.

"Merlin's bearded ghost! Hermione! The amount of pepper-up you have in here could kill an elephant! And the Ethelridge Energy Serum? Did you brew that yourself? That's almost a dark potion itself! Half the ingredients are illegal in this country!" He went on, his anger growing as he ticked off her insanely well-stocked stores. "No wonder you look like shit, woman, you know better than that!"

After all, Harry would know. Like Ron, he too had turned aside from his old dream of becoming an Auror. He had seen too much crime and death in his life. Instead, he decided he wanted to do real good in the world – real help. He wasn't academic enough, or driven enough, to stay in school to become a medi-wizard, but he did decide to posthumously honor Snape by taking up potions as a reminder of all the cruel, sarcastic martyr had done for him. Again, Harry was hardly motivated enough to become a potions master, but he could, and did, become an apothecary, specializing in the brewing of medical potions. It wasn't glamorous, and Ginny hated it, but the witches and wizards who came to his shop looking to ease their arthritis, cure their cataracts, mend their children's broken bones were all grateful.

"And what do you need this for?" Harry held up an iridescently blue vial, shimmering with the power of the fluid contained within.

"My work." Hermione turned away. "The charms I invented aren't easy on me."

"Then find some other way!" He was shouting now, "Merlin's balls woman, it's not the end of the world!"

"But it is Harry. It is." She murmured under her breath, just loud enough that Harry could make out her words. Taking a deep breath and making up her mind, she added more loudly, "You and Ron have laughed at me for years, mocked me for caring about the muggle world, teased me for spending so much years in school. You never understood why I cared so much. You can't pretend to care now. Just let me do what I have to do. Go home to Ginny, sell your potions, let me live my life, let me do what I have to do. You already saved the world once. You've done your share. Let me do mine"

"What do you mean, end of the world?" Harry was taken aback by the utter seriousness of her expression.

But she refused to say anything more on the matter, for all Harry ranted at her. Once her mind was made up, Hermione could not be swayed to speak.

Finally Harry's attention was drawn back to the blue vial he still held in his hand, "At least promise to stop using this. You'll kill yourself if you keep taking it." Privately he thought she might already be on the way there. He paused, and thought some more. "Hermione, even if you won't tell me what's going on, isn't there any way I can help you? Anything at all?"

"There is one thing." Hermione said after a long considering silence. "Wait here" Quickly she got up and left the apartment, only to return less than 5 minutes later with a small vial clenched in one fist. "There is something wrong with this solution. Find it."

"What do you mean, exactly, 'something wrong?'" Dubiously, Harry took the proffered vial.

"Exactly what I said. This has a property it shouldn't have. It is wrong. I don't know what it exactly it is, and telling you what it does, or seems to do, would only muddy the issue. You're an apothecary. Figure it out."

"I'm not a potions master." Harry demurred, sniffing the vial cautiously, "It smells like pumpkin juice."

"Indeed." Hermione agreed, "Think outside the box, Harry. But please, whatever you do, do not mention this to anyone, not Ginny, not Ron, not your kids. Don't let the house elves see, nor your owl, no one. I mean it, you're still one of my best, my only friends, and I don't want to jeopardize this life you've made."

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Her words were completely and utterly paranoid, but yet he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that Hermione was bonkers. Something, somewhere, had her scared.

"You have my word." He promised. He had to make it up to her for all the years of inattention, and his curiousity was piqued. If he had to play along for now, he would. And eventually she'd let him in on her secret. Already he was dying to know who she had imperiused and why. Worse, he was starting to get the impression that while for him and Ron the war had ended years ago, for Hermione the struggle had never ceased.

But all that would have to wait for another day. For now, it was late, and all he'd learned made him almost wish he'd remained oblivious to Hermione's state. He was scared now, and yet at the same time, exhilarated as if he'd been sleepwalking through the past decade and was only now beginning to awaken.

With a last goodbye, and a threat to return to check up on her now that he knew where she lived, Harry grabbed Hermione in one last fast fierce hug and departed.

ToBeContinued.

(If and when I feel like it and work doesn't get in the way)

I don't like this chapter much. You probably won't either.


	8. the cankers and medallions

"Father

"Father." Draco approached his father with caution. The Malfoy patriarch had always been touchy, and that was before his years in prison. Today he was seated in his study, reading a paper behind his massive desk. Draco wanted to scoff at that; what did father need a desk for these days anyway? It wasn't like he did any work, after all. Draco ran the business end of things, and there wasn't a hope in hell of Lucius being allowed to go back to his old political machinations. This was a shame really, for that was exactly what Draco needed him for now. Hence the way he swallowed his laughter and tried to look respectful. Lucius may have been defanged, but still he was Draco's father, and his words could still hurt, even after all these years.

"Son." Lucius gave a brief nod in acknowledgement and peered at his son over the edge of his paper.

That was all the encouragement Draco needed (and all he was going to get, anyway) to enter the elder Malfoy's study and flop into one of the leather-upholstered chairs that graced the room.

"I take it you have something you wish to discuss?" Lucius' tone was frosty with disapproval at Draco's mistreatment of his furniture.

"I thought I'd give you an update on the state of the finances of Malfoy Industries." Draco thought he'd best ease into his subject, but Lucius was having none of it. He simply lofted one eyebrow and continued to stare levelly at his son.

Draco was used to this. He'd never once managed to garner his father's approval on anything. As a child, it had driven him mad trying to figure out what he'd done wrong and how he could live up to his father's expectations. That was until the hellish year spent living with Voldemort and watching the mad lord treat his father with as much contempt as his father had treated him; before his family's actions had landed them both in Azkaban. Now, he'd just about stopped caring. And so he launched into his prepared speech about selected products manufactured or marketed or invested in by their company. All products selected because they were in some way directly regulated by the Ministry.

"Does this have a point?" Lucius finally interrupted, though he was beginning to suspect it did. He might no longer be directly involved in anything, but he was not stupid. "Is there something specific that you feel needs my attention? It was my impression that you did not want me to "meddle in things I knew nothing about." (As Draco had once put matters soon after Lucius had finally been released from Azkaban on probation and started second guessing all of Draco's business decisions.)

"Indeed. I don't want You to meddle." Draco sat back, and eyed his father challengingly, "As you may have noticed, many of our portfolios are struggling. We cannot export to the markets that demand certain products. Other products we cannot get raw materials for due to ridiculously high Ministry-imposed tariffs. There's one whole company that might go under because the Ministry is debating on whether the use of one of the manufacturing charms is skirting the dark arts! It's ridiculous."

"And. . .?" The question implied, just what does this have to do with me?

"And. Father." Draco leaned closer to the desk. "I know how to run a business. What I don't know, is how to tangle with the ministry and win."

"Ah. So. Now you need my help?" His tone implied just how unlikely Draco was to get it.

"Need? No." Draco glared at his father, "But, you had years of experience, twisting the Ministry around your little finger, and I would be remiss not to consult with you before I direct my attention in that direction."

"Indeed. You would be." Lucius sat back and steepled his fingers together as he considered the young man before him.

"Plus," Draco mused, "I figure you owe me. Because of you, it's going to be twice as hard to accomplish what needs to be done, after you and your loyalty to a crazed half-blood destroyed our good name, and resulted in your old contacts in the Ministry being killed or jailed or fired as well. I'll be starting from less than scratch."

Lucius narrowed his eyes, taken aback at Draco's directness. It wasn't like Draco to confront him so directly, usually the boy simply subjected his father to withering looks and long silences whenever their past came back to haunt them. But this, this deliberate provocation was new, and Lucius was intrigued, furious too, yes, but intrigued. What on earth could have stirred Draco up so? Lucius was sure it couldn't just be business related. Draco was up to something, and Lucius wanted to find out what. The family couldn't afford for its only son to screw up like he had.

There was only one way to prevent that.

After a long, cold silence, Lucius nodded his head ever so slightly. He would teach Draco what he knew. But there would be a price. Retirement was boring, and Narcissa was a scold. He wanted in on the action.

--

_Bureaucrats_. Draco remembered his father's sneering words, as he circulated through the sparse crowd occupying the hotel ballroom. _A lower species of human ruled by four basic principles. One-- Stupidity._

Draco smiled and nodded as the fat, slug-like woman blithered on to him about an accounting mishap that resulted in the funding for her particular subdepartment on regulation of unemployed house elves being quadrupled for the last quarter and how they'd spent it all before the general accounting office had caught on, and now they didn't know how to fix the budget for the rest of the year.

_Two – Cupidity._ Draco managed to hide his look of disgust, as a senior minister not-so subtly tried to hit him up for a bribe.

_Three – hunger for power_. Draco eavesdropped as one departmental head wormed his way up to a member of the Wizengamot and proceeded to snivelingly ingratiate himself with his superior.

_Four – pettiness_. He couldn't help but overhear the susurrations around him as malicious gossip spread around the room, mocking smiles flashing at stories of compatriots' misfortunes and little humiliations.

"_As a whole, then, what you have is a waste of air and resources, who considers him or herself to be a lord of their domain, be it cubical, office, department, or task force. Their sole goal is to force others to bow to them, and they will do this by any means necessary, from mandating you to submit forms in triplicate and signed in blood, to requiring impossible clauses in any bills submitted for ministry ratification. They demand respect, and are stupid enough to not know what real respect is, however, they are petty and paranoid enough to suspect that no one respects them. This gives them a serious chip on their shoulders, and a tendency to force petitioners to even further extremes of obsequiousness to prove that they have power. They will turn on you in a second, and cannot be trusted. No matter how large the bribe, or what promises they may make. Do you get the picture?"_

"_Sounds like Voldemort." Draco had sneered, just to see the look of anger flash across his father's face. But hey, it was true, and the old man knew it. Lucius scowled, his fingers twitching as if he ached to draw his wand, but continued nevertheless. _

"_You have to know what they want before they do; know their enemies, their fears, their darkest secrets, where the bodies are buried, the price of their souls, and when they're about to turn on you. You cannot show doubt or weakness. They sense weakness like a pack of wild dogs, and are just as rabid and vicious. There is only one way to deal with such creatures. Legilimancy."_

Legilimancy. Of course. How else to maintain an aura of untouchability, of power, of infallibility? It was a much under-appreciated skill, or rather, much underrated. Few in the ministry, even those in sensitive positions, thought to protect their minds from invasion the way they did their files. The more fools, they. Fortunately, Draco already knew Occlumancy (yet another legacy of the war and of the hazards of dealing with Voldemort). With that skill down, it wasn't terribly hard for Lucius to teach him Legilimancy as well. Thus prepared, Draco made a considerable donation to some minister's favorite charity or whatever it was, and got himself an invitation to the next ministry gala.

And now, here he was, working the crowds, listening with half an ear while he practiced the delicate art of mind-reading. It was a lot more difficult than he'd anticipated, making sense of the chaotic muddle that seemed to be the norm. Even more difficult to probe deeply and ferret out (god how he hated that term), the more meaningful desires and hidden secrets, without the subject sensing an intrusion. Fortunately, many people here were quite drunk, and chalked any disorientation up to the freely flowing liquor.

After half an hour of this, Draco wished that he, himself, had the luxury of alcohol. His head was pounding, and, quite frankly, he was disgusted by the depravity of the people around him. And he'd thought muggles were filthy! They couldn't be anything in comparison. You want to talk governmental corruption? He could point out any number of people who obsessed endlessly on the bribes they were getting. Not to mention embezzlement and blackmail. Then, of course, there were the adulterers, (though he had to admit that some number might just have been fantasizing, not remembering a real encounter). He wished he could shower his mind clean after an evening of this.

Still, Draco reminded himself philosophically, this wasn't as bad as life with Voldemort, or even as bad as Azkaban. And there were perks. After all, he did get to flirt with as many hot executive assistants as he wanted, as long as he never took it beyond simple friendly flattery. His father's words on this had been quite explicit. _There are other ways to influence the ministry, especially when it comes to the (very few) upright citizens among them. Their staff. An hour's lunch with a sympathetic staffer can do you more good than an expensive bribe. Who do you think really writes the policies anyway? Smile at them, flirt with them, let them know that you appreciate the stresses of their jobs, and just how ill-treated they are by their boss. Charm them, wine them, dine them, and then delicately slip in your concern that needs redress. It rarely fails._

Entertainingly enough, the vast preponderance of executive assistants and ministry support staff was female, blond, and leggy. What a bunch of dirty (and unimaginative) old men the ministers were.

So Draco did get to enjoy himself part of the evening, even to the extent of mentally eavesdropping in on some of the fantasies the aforementioned hot blonde staffers were having about him.

All in all, he felt it was a productive evening, and that, thanks to his good memory, he was making a real start at understanding what made his targets tick and where best to assail them from.

That was, at least, until Potter and his wife walked in. Draco was listening to one elderly gentleman ramble on about livestock quotas when he noticed a change in the air, a subtle murmur that ran through the rooms. Heads were turning, and he couldn't help but look at what the fuss was all about.

Potter looked like he did the last time Draco had seen him, across a crowd on Diagon Alley (Wizarding London was such a small place), rumpled and worn-out. It was obvious that even his social-climbing wife hadn't managed to nag him into dressing up. Ginny, on the other hand, was stunning in a black sheath. Impressive that she still looked so good after her twins and several miscarriages. It might have been a glamour, not that Draco cared one whit one way or the other.

What on earth were they doing here? Draco's society contacts always sneered about how the Potters had wasted their chances to capitalize on Harry's hero status. But here they were, strutting around large as life and networking with the best of them. (Well, at least Ginny was, Harry merely appeared to be here to be dragged around at her whim and carry her drink.) Sad what the erstwhile savior of the wizarding world had sunk to. Draco couldn't resist a chuckle, and forgetting his better judgment sent a little mental probe winging Harry's way.

The result was instantaneous. Potter whipped around and focused his eyes unerringly on Draco. He'd barely even touched the other man's mind. What the hell? Draco pretended not to notice the narrow eyed glare from across the room, and busied himself in mindless chitchat with the people nearest him.

The rest of the evening Draco would look up from time to time to find Potter's suspicious gaze upon him. Who'd have thought that the boy wonder that Snape had once derided as being totally incapable learning occlumancy could have been so sensitive to the touch of his mind. Just another one of the legacies of the war he supposed, probably another left over from old Voldemort. Or sheer paranoia. Who was to know for sure?

Eventually the random drift of the crowd brought the two former rivals near enough to each other for Draco to sneer a greeting when some poor ditz who should have known better introduced them.

"Potter."

"Malfoy. Wouldn't have thought to see you showing your face around here."

"That's because you're ignorant and uncultured." Draco replied, the serene smile on his face clashing with the derogatory tone of his voice.

"Says the convict."

"I paid my dues." Draco maintained his calm well, "Unlike some."

"And what's that supposed to mean."

"How easy it is to forget. Blame is cast by the winner. How many laws did you break? How many years did you get in Azkaban for theft? Destruction of property? Assault? Trespassing? You never faced consequences for anything you did in your life."

"Don't make presumptions about things you could never understand."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare." Draco laughed at the temper flaring in Potter's green eyes. "I merely point out how little you understand. You never understood a thing when we were children. Your little friends did all your thinking, all your planning, all your dirty work for you. And what are you now? Just a forgotten figurehead of a fragmented trio. Rotting in a stagnant life while the world decays around you."

"You. . ." It seemed Potter was barely hanging onto the shreds of his composure. He always had been so easy to set off. Draco wondered what Potter would do if he knew that Granger had cursed him. Well, for that, he'd probably cheer. But if he knew that Draco and Granger were working together to save the world, without him, then Potter would probably die of apoplexy. The thought was vaguely cheering, and with a secretive smile, Draco left Potter to simmer in his own impotent fury. He'd done enough here, learned enough from his mental spying, flirted with enough women, and kissed enough ass for one night. And as an extra added bonus, he'd pissed Potter off. All in all, not a bad first foray into the Ministry social scene. It was time to call it a night.

T.B.C

A boring chapter I know. But it's over. And that's the best I can say about it. Next up: Hermione engineers! Draco schemes! Harry gets frustrated! The world continues to turn!


	9. the spirit of team

"If you're so concerned about the population decrease, why haven't you done your share and spawned a few frizzy-haired freaks for queen and country?"

"What make you think I haven't? And anyway, I don't see you off sowing your wild oats across the countryside. Afraid no woman would want a permanent reminder of your pasty face?"

"I'm a Malfoy. We don't sire bastards."

"No, you just become them."

"I have not yet found a woman worthy of becoming the next lady Malfoy." The words were said with a sneer, "What's your excuse?"

"I told you already. I did my part."

"Yeah right. I doubt you could even get a boyfriend, much less a fool willing to impregnate you."

"You don't need a relationship to have a fuck. As I'm sure you well know." She spoke the words so primly that at first Draco didn't get what she had just said. When the words finally did sink in, he couldn't help the laughter that bubbled from his throat.

"What, you, Granger, the one time ice queen of Hogwarts, are an advocate of one night stands? That's rich."

"Believe what you will." It didn't matter to her what he or the rest of the world believed about her life or lack thereof. Her mission had compelled her to give up any chance of a stable social life, but a woman had needs, and this was after all, the twenty-first century. A type-A obsessed and driven workaholic she might be, but that hadn't stopped her from hoping that things would work out. There had been flings in college, all too brief, all too quickly extinguished by her commitment to her learning over all else. Not to mention trying to explain away her wide array of physical scars. And after college, well, opportunities were few and far between, but she had tried for a while, until the frustration of secret-keeping and relentless work hours had killed those too. She'd been celibate for years now, but she was not the virgin prude the world assumed. Hell, all her flings had been with muggles anyway, and the only wizards who knew what she was capable of in the bedroom were Ron, who, in the brief period between the end of the war and her acceptance to muggle university, had experienced a great deal with her firsthand, and Harry and Ginny and possibly any other inhabitants of the Burrow and Number 12 Grimmauld place who'd had the misfortune of being home while she and Ron were exploring all that the other's body had to offer. (The Burrow was not known for the soundproofing of its walls, and she and Ron had been too much otherwise occupied to bother with silencing charms).

"Still, I don't see any Granger-spawn running around." Draco made a show of scanning her empty flat for signs of life, besides himself and Granger and the cat happily purring in his lap.

"And you probably never will." Hermione smiled thinly, "There are other ways, Muggle ways."

"What in hell are you on about, Granger?"

"Egg donation." Hermione laughed at the blank look on his face, as she explained, ending with, ". . . and they even pay you for it."

"That's barbaric."

"That's science."

"So what, you answered these ads, meet two complete strangers, sucker them into thinking you're the perfect girl for them, undergo months of muggle meds that make you feel like crap, get poked and prodded and stuck with needles so they can put your eggs in a bowl with some dude's sperm, mix them together, and stick the mess back in some other woman?"

"Yup."

"And that works?"

"Well, I did have to use a glamour when I answered one of the ads, but basically, yes."

"And just how many Grangerlets did you create in this abhorrent fashion?"

"Two."

Draco was in shock. No matter how often he saw Granger, no matter how much he argued with her, hated her, resented her, she never ceased to amaze him. Often not in a good way, but still. And now here she was, blithely helping to create lives with no apparent qualms about foisting off her magical genes (or whatever it was responsible for magical ability) on unsuspecting muggles.

"Do their parents know that you're a witch?"

"I didn't tell them beforehand, if that's what you're asking."

"Huh."

He wasn't going to ask if these putative children had started to express magical ability

yet, and Hermione wasn't going to tell him. (The truth was, one had, and the parents had not been pleased. There had been harsh words, and threats of a lawsuit against her for misrepresentation, to which she had pointed out that no Muggle court of law could take such a case, and the chances of a Wizarding tribunal finding against her were slim to none. The parents hadn't contacted her since. She didn't know about the younger child, she hadn't heard from that couple since they'd called her to thank her for the beautiful baby they'd just had.)

What was done was done, and life went on. With an effort, Hermione turned the conversation back to business. Her meetings with Malfoy had not always been so – sociable. The first time or two that they'd met after she'd imperio'd him had been tense, to say the least. He'd been wary, his hand hovering a hairsbreadth from his wand, his muscles tense and angry. She'd been stiffly formal, taking deliberate care to offer him no threats, handling his wounded pride and independence with kid gloves on. It wasn't as though they had any friendly basis to their working relationship to begin with, so things couldn't get much worse between them than then those first few weeks. They argued then, as they had before she bound him with his oath, just as they argued now, about the priorities they had to set, who in the Ministry Draco should approach, and how. How subtle to be, and how many half-truths and outright lies they should tell. What back story he should give to account for his sudden interest in politics, and what role, if any, she should play. He'd thought, much to her surprise, that she should be seen to be backing him, lending credibility to his reformation. She had refused, on the grounds that people would be sure to question their connection, and she wasn't ready for the magical world to learn what she had been doing so abruptly. If her plans were to succeed, she needed the combination of magical and muggle technology to be gradually introduced into society, in little ways, not by the Prophet denouncing her (highly dangerous and untested) complicated inventions.

Well, every partnership had its rocky beginnings. So what if theirs was more bouldery than most? They persevered because they had no choice. She would accept no other outcome, and he was bound to her will. Gradually, the tension in their meetings waned enough that they would meet at her flat rather than at her office or some neutral territory. This was not to say they were friendly, most definitely not. She disliked his attitude, his condescension and his arrogance and his pasty skin. He couldn't abide her despotic mannerisms, her icy façade or her frizzed hair. He also hated the careless disaster area that was her flat, the papers and books and wire bits and motherboards strewn across the floor. But these were little concerns when faced with the prospect of the extinction of the wizarding world.

"You'll never guess who I saw last week at the Ministry Ball." Malfoy offered into the silence.

"Who?"

"Potter, and his wife. Don't suppose you had any part in then showing their faces in such exalted circles?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Hermione shook her head. "Did you speak to him?"

"We had an encounter." Draco answered coyly.

"Indeed."

"You didn't tell him about us." It was statement, not a question.

"'Us?' you make it sound like we're a couple." Hermione laughed.

"Hardly. We're conspirators plotting to change the world. Doesn't that sound like Potter's cup of tea?"

"No."

"He suspects something, though, doesn't he?" Draco pressed on.

"Why do you think that?" She tried to hide her worry.

"I spent years antagonizing Potter, I can recognize when he's off his game. And he was definitely off." Draco thought back to his brief encounter with Potter, the speculative look in Potter's eyes, his even less articulate than usual gibes, and the ease with which he'd been able to get in the last word and slip away before Potter could nail him for his abortive attempt at reading the other man's mind.

Hermione sighed. "He doesn't know about you. And unless you feel the need to tell him, I'm happy to keep it that way. He deserves a little peace and quiet, and getting involved with our work would ruin that."

"Hah!" Draco snorted, "Deserve? We all bloody well deserve a break. What in hell makes him so special? Are you just afraid to imperio a fellow Gryffindor? Besides which, I doubt he's getting much peace with that Weasley shrew he married. . . . Or maybe you're just too embarrassed to tell him you've bonded with his childhood nemesis."

"He knows I've been casting dark magic." Hermione cut into his rant tersely. "He's sensitive to these things. He just doesn't know on whom or what. He also raided my potions supplies. Found some things I'd rather he hadn't. I couldn't . . .I wouldn't tell him a thing. But he knows something is up. It's Harry, and I'm afraid he gets a bit obsessive. One way or another he'll find out what parts he can about us. About me. But tell me, do you really think Harry can help us at this juncture?"

"No." Draco didn't really need to think on that one at all.

"Pretty much my thoughts." She sighed again. "On the other hand, I did give him some pumpkin juice to analyze without telling him what it was. Maybe his experience with potions will help unravel that mystery."

"I doubt it." Draco sneered, slightly appeased.

"Anyway," Hermione took a deep breath, "This is getting us nowhere. Let's talk about the real reason I wanted to meet tonight."

"Right then. About time."

"I don't know how much you figured out about how my filtration systems and scrubbers really work, but it's time you found out the rest. Come, I wanted to show you my warehouse."

--

"Can't you just tell me?" Draco whined as Hermione stood locking up her flat and resetting the wards.

"I want you to appreciate the extent of the problem."

"What? I thought you probably just had some weird transfiguration or vanishing charm in place to eliminate everything you didn't recycle back in to the factories."

"Hardly." Hermione scowled as the last ward settled into place. "If only it were that easy. Do you know where things go when they vanish? I don't but I'm not about to risk dumping literally tons of shite into an unknown vacuum. Besides which, it would be a terrible waste. As for transfiguration, that apparently requires conscious attention every time. There is no single casting that will result in everything coming through thereafter automatically being transfigured. Besides which, a stray finite incantem could potentially precipitate a toxic rain. Again, I mean that quite literally.

"We're going to have to side-along." Hermione proffered her arm to a reluctant Draco, who took it gingerly, steeling himself for the stomach-churning jolt of apparition.

With a quiet pop the two reluctant allies disappeared from the hallway, only moments before Harry Potter entered the front door of the building.

--

Draco saw the world reappear before him, a bleak warehouse in concrete, steel and fluorescent lighting, just as he felt Granger stagger and reel away from him. He didn't spare much of a look-around for the building in which he found himself, preferring to stare at Hermione and the way in which she paled, suddenly gasping for air. Quickly he patted himself down, making sure she hadn't splinched him, before he turned back to the woman beside him to see what was wrong with her.

"Granger! What the hell is wrong with you? You could have killed us apparating like that! What, did you hit one of your own wards?"

"No." She gasped, making her way to the nearest wall and leaning heavily against it. "I didn't realize it would be this bad. Guess it's been longer since I was last here than I thought."

"What is it?" He was really getting sick of her coy mysteries.

"What I started to explain." Her words were labored, peppered with pauses and small gasps, but she pressed on in her usual, excessively didactic, fashion, "My pollution systems aren't perfect. I can only purify and recycle into the factories certain compounds, many of which are only plausible in my water filtration systems. The airscrubbers pose more of a problem." She sank to the floor as she spoke on, "I couldn't transfigure the waste, and I couldn't vanish it, so what I did was design a system that purifies residue into, well whatever I can. It varies from plant to plant. A lot of what I get is smoke, which is mostly hydrocarbons. I figured out how to use a mix of magic and chemical catalysis to turn those back into coal. I also get sulfur compounds, and I used magic to distill those into pure sulfur, with random hydroxyls getting shunted into the mix for coal. Similarly for the various heavy metals and rare earth elements. What's left after going through my systems is mainly water and nitrogen, which are allowed back into the atmosphere.

"So, what's your point?"

"Have you ever used the bottomless charm?" It seemed an abrupt change of topic, but Draco heaved a sigh and went along with it.

"Of course. Every coat should have a bottomless pocket or two. What does that have to do with anything?"

Hermione took a breath, and levered herself back into a standing position. "I needed somewhere to put all the recycled products. I couldn't just give them back. There would be too many questions."

"Wait. . . you did. . . What?!" Malfoy shook his head trying to imagine the sheer size of her audacity. No one knew how much matter you could put into a bottomless pocket or bag. Especially when combined with shrinking charms. But he was getting the distinct impression that Hermione could tell him to the precise gram --if not milligram-- just what that limit was.

"Yes." She nodded, seeing the comprehension in his eyes. "That's the real reason why I have the "filters" replaced on a regular schedule. My maintenance men are muggles, they've never seen the inside of the "filter" they're swapping out. It's really just a compartmented storage container with a whole bevy of charms to keep the matter shrunken, and levitating in place, and to cancel inertia."

"You're insane."

"Yes." Hermione agreed flatly, "The problem with all these charms is that they require Magical energy to maintain. Without a constant infusion of magic, they would, essentially, explode."

"Let me take one guess where the energy comes from." Malfoy growled.

"You're partly right." She acknowledged the look in his eyes. "All charms preferentially draw from the caster, but if the caster is remote, they draw nonspecifically from any and all sources of magic in the vicinity. That's why this warehouse is smack in the middle of a major population center."

"Granger. . . ."

"So you see, the problem."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Surely this madwoman didn't expect him to help cast her power draining spells?

"I thought that was obvious. I need you to pump these resources back into industry. I'm sure you can find buyers for some of these materials, or use them yourself."

"Oh." Draco couldn't help nod his head in appreciation. Granger was more sly than he'd thought, first manipulating him with the stick, and now dangling a carrot in front of his face. Well, he knew he didn't really have a choice. He'd bite. He knew plenty of people who wouldn't question too closely the origin of needed materials, especially if he priced to undercut the market rate.

Hermione sighed in relief. She hadn't realized just how overwhelming the drain on her energy was, this close to so many major charms. She could almost feel the years of her life slipping out through her skin with her magic. And Draco noticed too. The gears of his mind were churning as he tried to figure out how Granger's weakness could be turned to his advantage without violating the terms of his thrice-damned oath.

He watched her fumble with her pockets and pull out a small vial, which she took care to shield from his eyes, though he caught the faintest hint of electric blue as she opened it carefully, and raised it to her lips for the smallest of sips.

"Granger. . ." He started to question, but then his eyes were caught by the shudder that ran through her body from the tips of her toes all the way up to her wide brown eyes. . . _Her eyes_. Malfoy didn't think, he just acted, seizing the opportunity as she was open and exhausted, and vulnerable to him as he had never before seen her. _"Legilimens!"_

He was not prepared for this.

If he'd thought about it beforehand, he would have presumed she knew occlumancy. She didn't. Or if she did, it wasn't any kind of occlumancy his father had ever told him about. There was no blank wall, such as an amateur might use. There was no shifting set of harmless memories, that one slightly more skilled would throw up. Nor was the mishmash of memories and wayward thoughts and seemingly random threads of emotion that you'd find with an undefended mind, or with an experienced Occlumens.

His guts wrenched in nausea at the silent scream that was her mind. A roiling sea of self-loathing, of regrets, and desperation. It couldn't be real. He rejected that, even as he fell out of her mind, it simply had to be a shield, or perhaps a weapon. A minefield of a mind. No one could have so much bottled up inside for so long and remain so calm and collected as she did. Not without exploding.

Draco staggered back, as Hermione blinked, her eyes narrowing into a glare at her erstwhile ally.

"Don't you. Ever. Try that again. Please." She added as an afterthought, her voice shaky, but still a deadly calm.

"Don't worry." Draco ran a hand across his suddenly sweaty brow, "I'd rather rip my own eyes out." His lips twisted in an effort not to ask. He was not going to ask. . . . "Granger. . . ."

"Don't." She shook her head as if batting away flies. Let him wonder. In the meantime, she flexed her fingers, feeling the tingling as she reacted to her potion. Not enough. Not as much as she'd thought. God, how much more could she take? She took a wobbly step, and stopped, breathing deeply in an effort to gather her strength to apparate away from this place.

"Uh-Uh." Draco frowned, willing himself to forget the last few minutes. "I don't know what was in that potion of yours, but you are in no shape to apparate. You'll splinch yourself." Not that he cared if her foot ended up inside out or something. But there was that oath to contend with. Not to mention that saving the world thing. None of which could happen if she accidentally ended up with her lungs in Surrey, and her fucked-up brain in London or something equally stupid.

--

Harry Potter was having a bad week. Come to think of it, the man-who-didn't-much-like-the-life-he'd-survived-to-live, didn't remember the last time he'd had a good week. Ginny was withholding sex, for what infraction, he still wasn't quite certain. She claimed it was because he'd fucked up at the ministry gala the other week, but he just wasn't buying it. After all, He hadn't done anything! He'd have been happier staying home or watching Quidditch, but he'd done like she wanted, got all spiffed up and went. He'd thought she'd had a good time. He hadn't even thought she'd noticed that (thankfully brief) encounter with Malfoy.

Whatever. He'd long since learned that in a fight with Ginny he wasn't allowed to win. Even when she was wrong. Especially when she was wrong. Such was the way of the world. He hadn't had the energy to press the point anyway. Not after the hours he'd spent bashing his head against the wall in his attempt to understand the so-called potion Hermione had given him. He'd run the usual gamut of diagnostic spells, searching for dark magic, any magic. He'd run spells to determine the ingredients of the potion. If it was a potion. Nothing came up. Pumpkin Juice. Nothing but pumpkin juice. He was half beginning to suspect that Hermione had given him this shit to keep him occupied. Keep him from prying too deeply into her affairs.

But no, it was Hermione. She might hide things from him, she might lie, but he'd seen the look on her face when she'd handed him that vial. Deadly serious it was. Then again, given the potions in her bathroom, whatever she was involved with had to be deadly serious. So Harry persevered. He went to the library, he went to the bookstore – an activity he despised, and he read. Textbooks, old potion grimoires, yellowed and faded journals, and even some advanced muggle chemistry texts. Ugh. He hadn't had such monumental headaches since his apprenticeship. It was slow going and Harry cursed Hermione frequently. Reading was so not his thing.

He bought distillation equipment, and, going on the premise that what Hermione had given him pure, or nearly pure, pumpkin juice, he purchased liters of it, reflecting, as he did so, that he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Hermione drink the stuff. Harry was an apothecary, not a chemist, or even an alchemist, and he wasn't entirely clear the best way to set up, much less use the equipment he got. There weren't that many great spells for analyzing organic molecules. Usually potions got deciphered by means of smell, and appearance, and the diagnostic spells that had proved fruitless in this instance. He needed help, and badly. He needed the woman who had got him into this mess. He needed Hermione.

So now here he was, pacing outside her door at 9 o'clock at night, wondering where she could be, and failing miserably at getting through her wards. He wondered if he got frustrated enough if a simple blast of power would be adequate. Or what about an explosive potion—he was sure he could create one of those.

Time passed, and still no Hermione. He'd be worried, but Harry realized he didn't even know what her schedule was like or what hours she normally kept. What kind of friendship did they have anyway?

Harry continued to pace. He would wait a little longer.

--

"This is not my apartment, Malfoy." Hermione staggered involuntarily against Draco, causing him to flinch in distaste and brush imaginary germs from his sleeve.

"No. It isn't."

"Why isn't this my apartment?" Hermione felt more woozy than usual following a warehouse visit, and was seriously considering another dose of her blue potion, "Blue Champagne" they called it, such a simple name for such a dangerous brew. Her brain was still reeling from the aftereffects of the two drops she'd already had.

"What, don't you want to know where we are?" Draco gestured expansively at the room, a large, sleek, hyper-modern office in chrome and glass and leather, all angles and harsh surfaces, much like the man himself. The iciness of the room was muted somewhat by several paintings on the wall, the shelf of books behind the desk, and stacks of neatly organized papers and files everywhere. It wouldn't take a genius to realize that this was Malfoy's office. The beating heart of his industrial empire. "Where is your brilliance, Granger? I didn't take you home because you are obviously in no shape to apparate, much less take down those godawful wards of yours, and I'm not going to waste my time and endanger my bits by trying to break in for you.

"Aww. I didn't know you cared." Hermione let herself slump into one of his chairs. It was a lot more comfortable than it looked, and she had the sneaking suspicion that the chairs were charmed to compensate for their looks.

"Yes you do. You put me under a fucking unbreakable to ensure I had no choice but to care." Draco snarled, his lip curling in resentment, as he stalked to his desk and sat down on the edge. "While you're here, here's the list that R&D came up with for the list of crossover items we're considering putting into production, and the list of our plants that need upgrades. . . ." He went on, ignoring her huffs of protest, adding to her already impossible list of tasks and administrivia that needed to be seen to.

"Malfoy!" she shouted at last, able to take no more of this.

"What?" He pretended all innocence.

"This'll have to wait."

"What, you think what you showed me earlier will excuse you from the rest of our work? Hah." Though he'd never understand how with the two of them the workload seemed to have trebled if not quadrupled from what Hermione had been doing alone.

"Of course not." Hermione glared as well as her exhaustion would let her, "It's just that, I have to go overseas for a few weeks."

"You what?"

"I have a contract. As soon as you get started unloading the warehouse, I'll be installing the finishing touches.

"Oh really?" Draco crossed his arms petulantly. She was going to leave him in the lurch. Big surprise that.

"Yes. Don't be such a prat."

"I will when you stop being such a bitch." He snapped, "So where are you going on this all-important contract, and what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"China." Hermione had worked very hard to get contacts overseas, and fortunately for her, China was on a big push to clean up their act and show the rest of the world that their industrial prowess was not entirely based on the trashing of their environment. Armed with that knowledge, and a hefty amount of bribery Hermione had finagled permissions from both the magical and muggle government to proceed.

"Riiight." Draco rolled his eyes, "Now I see why you need to offload your crap." He was disgusted with Granger. For all her scheming and desire to save the world, the woman failed to have a practical bone in her body. What was needed was what she was forcing him to do. Planning, leadership, a public persona, a mission. She shouldn't be punting around across the world playing engineer. That's what employees were for. They needed a cabal. Which they couldn't have because Granger didn't know how to trust and anyway, had zero charisma. No wonder she'd felt she had to imperio him. "Fine." He huffed after a long pause, "But when you get back, you and I are going to have words. I've put up with your dictates so far, but I'm the one with business sense. I'm the one who understands people. So now, it's time for you to listen to me. If we're going to turn the government on its ear, we need a real plan, and you need to be an active participant in it. None of this ordering me around. I am not your errand boy or your gofer. I am not your lieutenant. I am a Malfoy. I am your partner in this, and I will be treated as such."

Hermione stared wide-eyed at his little speech. Well, at least he hadn't said he was her superior, though she was sure he was thinking it. She sighed, she knew he was right, but engineering, science, applied arithmancy, was what she knew. What she was good at. Why else had she allowed Malfoy to join her, but for his status in society and the skills that such an upbringing had entailed? Skills that she had never learned. The sort of strategic mind that she had not developed. Oh well, no time like the present to learn.

"You're right." She finally admitted unhappily. It still unnerved her that Malfoy could act like a responsible adult, and that his words had merit.

They talked a while longer, before the conversation devolved into its usual round of sneers and gibes and curses. Civility could only last so long between two such reluctant allies. At last, Hermione felt well enough to apparate home, thankful that she had not had to resort to the blue vial her fingers kept clenching spasmodically in her pocket, but first.

". . . Oh, and Malfoy. I noticed you watching me reset my wards tonight. I'd rather you didn't damage them in the future trying to get into my flat," She was suspicious enough to suspect him of scheming a break-in to raid her files, or maybe just to snoop. There was only one way she knew to derail that. "So I'm going to tell you how to get in, I'm going to trust you not to disturb anything while I'm gone."

"Are you giving me permission to go through your stuff?" Malfoy was instantly suspicious. Who knew what other traps she might set for him.

"You said it yourself," Hermione shrugged, "Like it or not, we're partners now. Equal partners. So why not? Plus, I need someone to feed the cat while I'm gone." With that revelation, she gave a weak smile, stood, and apparated away, leaving Draco to stare, frustrated, at the empty air.

--

Fuck it, it was past 10 pm. Ginny was going to kill him if he wasn't home soon. Harry ran a hand through his tousled hair in frustration, and paced past Hermione's door once more. Who knew when she was coming back? Maybe he would just send her an owl tomorrow. With a final irritated sigh, Harry gave up and apparated home, again missing Hermione only by seconds as she staggered out of thin air. Had he waited just a few more moments, Harry would have been shocked to see how Hermione had seemed to age in the few short weeks since he had last seen her, the tightening of the skin on her cheekbones, the graying of her skin, and the prominence of all her bones. Worse, he would have seen the haunted look in her sunken eyes, and known at once she hadn't taken his advice on her potions. The side effects of Blue Champagne were as unmistakable as they could be lethal. (Or perhaps it was the restorative effect that was the side-effect, the histories were a little vague on that.)

Regardless, Hermione found no one as she undid her wards, let herself into her flat, flopped on the bed and let the blues that she'd been holding off by sheer force of will the past hour or so, crash through her like a crushing tsunami, until the tears came, and went, to be followed by the sleep of the dead.

T.B.C.

(Arghh. I couldn't get this fucking chapter to go where I want. Or end. Goddamnit. I hate it when the words are gone by the time I get to the computer. To be replaced by drivel. Useless. I post and move on, because I can't be bothered to start over from scratch.)


	10. you still won't hear

"What is the meaning of this?" Lucius stormed into Draco's office, despite the best efforts of Draco's assistant at running interference. In his hand he held a sheaf of documents. Unfortunately, Draco had a pretty good guess what those contained. He knew his father still liked to pretend like he had a say in how the corporation was run, and had a few of his spies scattered throughout the hierarchy. Plus, it was really hard to hide an influx of so much raw materials of unknown provenance, and zero cost. (Though he had tried to hide the windfall with a modest, if false, outlay of money, that eventually found its way into a private vault in Gringotts that he was setting up for his assault on the government.) Nevertheless, he wasn't about to give in to his father's blatant attempt at intimidation.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He raised his pointed chin defiantly, to look down his nose at his erstwhile sire.

"Just what are you really up, son?" Lucius leaned on Draco's desk, papers flat under one hand, cane in the other. "These budgets make no sense. Whatever it is you think you're doing, you need to be more careful to cover your tracks."

"I'm not doing anything illegal." Well, he wasn't. Granger was, he was sure, at least skirting the edge of the law, but he'd had a look at Granger's standard contracts and had a long talk with his lawyers about what could and could not be considered stolen goods. Once you got past the fact that there was no reasonable way for these materials to have come into existence (either by muggle means or magical means – no one ever would have thought to combine the two in the ways that Granger had), it was a simple matter of logic, the "filters" belonged to Granger. Her contracts specifically stated that any waste material caught in the filter became her exclusive responsibility to dispose of. (Though her employers would not have been so thrilled to sign over ownership had they known just what was going on.) Therefore, she was well within her rights to give the "waste" to him. It just looked highly suspicious, especially since he'd taken care that nowhere in his transfers of goods and moneys, did Granger's name or the true source of his windfall appear.

"Really." Lucius sat back and eyed his son curiously. Draco had assumed a poker face, and sat waiting patiently with his arms crossed, for his father to continue. "This . . . Whatever it is, doesn't involve smuggling? Theft?"

"What do you take me for, father? I am not a petty thug." _Unlike you and the old death-eater cadre,_ his cool tone seemed to imply.

"I didn't raise you to be a fool, either."

"Of course not." _But I'm still not telling you a thing._ Even if he wanted to, Draco was pretty sure no good would come of his father knowing about Granger, and that as such, would violate the terms of his unbreakable. Damnit.

"I don't suppose this in any way relates to your recent. . . activities over at the ministry?"

So the old man had been watching him. Of course. It's not every day you teach your son legilimancy so that he can work his will upon the government.

"What do you think?" Draco challenged, the spark apparent in his pale eyes.

"I think, son, that you're up to your neck in something." Lucius had learned that the people Draco had been contacting at the ministry were not all people that could be validly said to be involved in the regulation of industry. He'd been seen lunching with the senior assistant to the deputy undersecretary of education. Not long after which rumors had emerged of a new bill being considered to push for mandatory muggle studies in school from first year on, as well as the possibility of teaching muggle physics alongside NEWT level arithmancy, and biology along with herbology, chemistry with potions. Such outlandish and unheard of notions, but apparently ones that suddenly had financial backing, with articles appearing in the papers touting the ideas (all by journalists well known to be swayed by an appropriate sum), leaflets and fliers being delivered to every home. There had been sightings of Draco approaching one or two bureaucrats under Weasley's supervision in the misuse of muggle artifacts division. Something deeply shifty was going on, and Lucius didn't trust a scheme that he wasn't in the thick of. Hell, he should know from bitter experience that tangling with the status quo was a sure way to land yourself in a heap of shit. He didn't want his son repeating his mistakes.

And so, Lucius convinced himself that he needed to know what was going on in Draco's head. He knew his son was an occlumens, but then, he taught him everything he knew. It should be possible to batter through his defenses.

Lucius frowned, and looked deeply into the suspicious grey eyes that mirrored his own. Cold and hard and blank. "Legilimens!"

But Draco was prepared. He knew his father could not abide being left out of the loop. He knew he likely couldn't withstand a determined assault from a man who knew he was hiding something. (Occlumency worked a hell of a lot better when the assailant only had vague suspicions to go on.) But he didn't need to. He just needed a distraction. Fortunately, his own assault on Granger several weeks before provided just the thing. He brought the memory to the forefront. A vague hint of a female psyche before the overwhelming blast of angst. Not enough to identify the originator of the sensation, but enough to know it didn't come from Draco. Lucius pushed. He pushed hard trying to break through the wall, but it was too much. Which was just as well, because the effort of remembering such mind boggling mental pain was making Draco sick to his stomach.

Lucius broke the connection with a gasp, and an irritated sense of pride in his son's ability to block him. "Hmm. . ." He sat back and tapped his chin thoughtfully with the head of his cane. "Blue Champagne, if I'm not mistaken. Just where – who – did you extract _that_ memory from?" If he hadn't suspected Draco of being up to something, he certainly was now. "There must be some very interesting Doings at the ministry these days. Tread carefully, son, tread very carefully." Lucius reiterated absentmindedly. He had to think more on this development. With a distracted nod, Lucius carefully collected himself and departed.

"What the fuck?" Draco was still gasping from having forced himself to relieve his trip into Hermione's mind. "Blue Champagne?" Not something he had ever heard of. But he was going to find out.

--

Lucius lounged in the privacy of his study, gazing appreciatively at the tumbler of aged single malt swirling in his hands. He did so appreciate a fine distillation.

_Blue Champagne_, It had been many years since he'd last caught a whiff of that particular poison. Not that he would ever have dirtied his hands with it, himself. No, Lucius had always preferred to work behind the scenes, above the law, not below it, at least until Voldemort had torn his self-respect along with his respectability away from him. Bella, on the other hand, had heard about it, back in the salad days of the Death Eaters, before the birth of Harry-fucking-Potter. She wheedled and cajoled Severus into brewing a batch of it for her, and then she had slipped it into the butterbeer of an ex-lover who had once jilted her, now a married man with 3 children. The results had been . . . explosive. . . literally.

The thing about Blue champagne, and why Bella had been so eager to try it, was that it didn't kill the victim. Not in and of itself. Instead it tapped into a wellspring of self-doubt, despair, hate, regret, and remorse that everyone gets a taste of now and then, and brought it flooding to the forefront of their psyche, to the momentary exclusion of all other thought. A few drops and the victim would be ready to off themselves right then and there. Diluted, the poison could cause a black depression and prolong their torment. Lucius couldn't remember a single subject of Bella's experimentation that hadn't killed themselves in the end.

There was just one unexpected side effect of the potion. In addition to driving people mad with self-hatred, it was also among the most potent magical restorative potions known to mankind. This had delighted Bella by leading to a great number of . . . impressive . . . and volatile suicide methods. Take the ex-lover for example. He had gone home, sat down at the family dinner table, and set himself on fire. Using Fiendfyre. The entire house had burned in minutes. There had been no survivors.

Lucius had once used legilimancy on a victim of Blue champagne, and to this day, he remembered the experience vividly.

Of course, Blue champagne had been banned in Britain for at least 200 years, and was notoriously finicky to brew. So following the death of Severus and the destruction of the Death Eaters, he had never expected to find it in use again.

It was deeply disturbing to find out how wrong he was. And if someone was poisoning employees at the Ministry with it, what did that say about the stability of the government? Was another dark lord or lunatic on the rise? And what was Draco's role in all this? Was it simply a "lucky" and incidental peek at the victim's mind. Or was he in some way connected to the poisoner? He'd thought Draco had learned from him to keep his hands clean. God forbid he should be wrong. He couldn't bear it if his son ended up like him, old, disgraced, and discredited.

--

_Bloody Hell!_ Draco flung the book across the room, heedless of the way its ancient pages folded and crumpled on impact. Granger was out of her fucking mind. He'd guessed, even before the warehouse incident, that Granger wasn't well, by her deplorable skin tone and wasted frame, but he had no goddamned clue just how bad the situation really was. No wonder she was so desperate for an ally that she had pounced on him. There were plenty of other potent stimulants and elixirs in the world, though few so efficacious as this. He wondered if anyone else had been so desperately in need of magic strengthening and so supremely sure of their mental fortitude to try what she had done. Was doing. To her herself. Perhaps a misguided squib? And how long would they have survived the effects on their psyche?

Well, he'd better start planning for how he was going to save the world himself, after Granger finally cracked and offed herself. Maybe things would work out more to his advantage if he didn't have to pretend to care about muggle and magical creature equality.

--

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the heavy wooden door. He wished Hermione were here with him, but oh no, she was off on the other side of the world, and he didn't even know why.

After failing to catch her at her apartment the other week, he'd given in and owled Hermione making sure that as per her paranoid instructions, no mention was made of what he was doing or what he needed her help for, only that he had to talk to her. The next day, she'd shown up in his shop. Things had been awkward and strained between them, each remembering their last encounter and the barriers that had grown between them, until Harry had finally rid the shop of his last customer and ushered her into his heavily warded laboratory, and turned the conversation to his researches. It didn't take long then, for Hermione to become animated, her speech becoming rapid and enthused at all that he had done. Despite the fact that all he felt he'd done was fail.

"You have a still!" She'd exclaimed, looking at the disassembled glassware and clamps and random bits strewn across a workbench.

"Yeah, but . . ." Harry had started to explain that he didn't even know how to put it together, even as Hermione rolled up her sleeves and started reading the instruction manual.

"There! All ready." Hermione smiled in satisfaction ten minutes later, as she surveyed her handiwork. "Were you thinking of using chromatography with this? If you are, there are some spells you'll have to avoid using in the vicinity. Magic, you know, doesn't exactly follow muggle physical properties."

"I don't . . ." Harry tried to tell her that he barely understood what she was talking about, even after the books he'd waded through, but Hermione was in full thinking mode, and clearly wasn't listening to him as she pondered the options.

"No wait. . . . Hmm, what about? . . . Is it safe? . . . As long as he doesn't know. . . And how would they know? . . . a muggle should be ok. . . He does owe me a favor. Dirty old lech! Right then. It's settled!"

"Huh?" Harry stared at her in bewilderment, having forgotten much about her efficient take-charge attitude over the years.

"One of my old professors at Uni. Owes me a favor. If you can distill up a batch of this, and bring over whatever you get out, he'll run it through. Tell you what you got. Sort of."

"Huh?" Harry reiterated. "A muggle? How's he going to know what you're looking for?"

"Well," Hermione reverted to lecture-mode, "Presumably you've not found the magic component of this."

"Maybe it would be easier if you told me what you were looking for." Harry muttered under his breath.

". . .So, there must be something in the physical component." She continued heedlessly, "If magic analysis isn't working, then we'll just have to go for the muggle way: liquid chromatography- mass spectrometry."

"A lot of trouble for pumpkin juice." Harry grumbled, knowing that he was going to have to go read about that too. He could already feel a headache forming.

"For this?" Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared, "Harry, you have no idea just how many lives depend on us understanding this!"

"Again. It would help if you told me what you're looking for!" Harry was no stranger to her moods. "Didn't I get enough of this secrecy shit from Dumbledore? Remember the months starving in a tent, directionless and afraid, all because he kept secrets? Remember how you hated it? Remember how the locket almost drove us mad? Drove us apart? Don't do this to us again, 'Mione!"

Hermione clenched her jaw, willing herself to ignore his plea. She hadn't wanted to tell him anything, hadn't wanted to get him involved. Still, here they were. She was exhausted, and he was right, she couldn't keep every thing a secret forever. How could she tell Malfoy, but not Harry? If he was in this far, he'd have to come in all the way.

"Harry," she hated the pleading tone in her voice.

"Don't even think about giving me the old 'it's for my own good' spiel, either!"

"I. . ." She sighed in defeat at the look in his eyes, "It's not like I enjoy keeping secrets."

"But you do it so well." For a moment there, the sneering tone reminded her quite strongly of the way Ron would get when he felt he was being left out or neglected.

"It's just. . ." How to explain in such a way that Harry wouldn't forget it immediately? "There's something in the juice, I don't know what, that affects. . . perception, and memory."

"What do you mean? I've been drinking the stuff since I was 11, and there's nothing wrong with me. Or Ginny, or Ron. . or . . Ok, well maybe there is something wrong with Ron." the joke fell flatly in the air between them.

"Wrong? No. But then again, as far as I can tell, the effects are very specific."

"Well, maybe it doesn't affect everyone?"

"Sorry, Harry, why do you think I won't tell you what it is? You're affected by it too."

"I haven't noticed anything different." He was skeptical, as well he should be, what with his experiences, innate paranoia, and sensitivity to dark magic. Yet, despite all that, he'd not noticed a thing.

"My point exactly."

"Huh?"

"Take my word for it, I checked." Her tone would brook no argument.

"It's really in the juice? All pumpkin juice?"

"I presume so, otherwise I have to say the world is a lot more oblivious than I thought."

"How does it alter perception?"

"There are certain. . . facts of modern life, that you can't see, can't even question. And if these facts are brought to your attention, you cannot remember them."

"If someone had that sort of power, don't you think they'd have taken over by now and turned us all into mindless cattle?"

"I don't know. Harry, I don't know who did this or how. I only know the problem affects the entire wizarding world. Not just Britain. Like we've been confundused or obliviated. Or maybe the facts made. . . unspeakable. That's it. That's all I know."

"So what are these facts of life, that you're so reluctant to tell me?" Harry challenged.

She told him.

"Well, come on aren't you going to tell me?"

She told him again.

"Hermione?" He was getting impatient.

"I just told you twice." She sighed.

"Riiight."

"No, really, Harry. I did." She told him a third time. "So, that's what it does. Does that help? That's all we have to work with."

"That's not much."

"If I thought it would help, I'd've told you in the first place." Well, maybe she would have. Probably not though, if she were to be honest with herself.

"Huh." Harry grabbed a sheet of notepaper and his old potions textbook (the one that had used to belong to Snape) and started to scribble down notes, as he flipped through the heavily annotated pages. "Hmmm. . . Pumpkins are related to the gourdian knot vine, which can be added to pepper-up to improve clarity of memory, but cannot be mixed with. . . . What about Sucker squash? The leaves substitute for choly-melon root in some calming potions? What kind of pumpkins do we use for juice? Are they the same as muggle pumpkins? How similar are they to zucchini or butternut squash?"

Plainly inspiration had finally struck. Hermione smiled slightly as Harry ran a hand through his tousled hair, adjusted his crooked glasses and got to work. Who would have guessed Harry could be so involved in such a quintessentially academic pursuit?

She took her leave shortly thereafter, after writing down the phone number of the Prof. at Uni who she thought could help them.

So now here he was, three weeks later, dressed in Muggle jeans, his wand safely hidden in its arm holster, a bag of tiny vials slung over his shoulder. Harry squared his shoulders and knocked again, mentally rehearsing how to explain what he had done and why he needed to analyze fractionated substances with labels like jack-o-lantern 1, gourdian 7, and turban 15.

--

Hermione reeled and dizzily leant against the factory wall. Ok, that was it. No more apparating for this trip. Only one more plant to outfit, and she'd be done for now. The trip had been a huge success. Not only had she emplaced her magical filters at 15 of the country's worst polluting sites, but she'd met with several junior deputy ministers in the Ministry of magic and begun establishing contacts to help lobby for the export of magical items to the muggle world, and less restrictive rules governing the import and use of magical technology. Thus far, they were skeptical, but no more so than Britain's ministry, and possibly more receptive to the easing of boundaries, anything that would allow them, or their muggle counterparts to develop an edge, economic or otherwise against the rest of the developed world.

So much work was exhausting. Not to mention the sheer quantity of magic needed to build and install, much less maintain her units. When this was over, she promised herself that she would sleep for a week, even as her more pessimistic side warned her that she couldn't afford a break, and even if she could, Malfoy was going to need watching. She was sure he wouldn't be content to be in the backseat for much longer.

Hermione pushed herself to her feet and, swaying slightly as she fought her vertigo and general sense of complete and utter enervation, went off to find her translator. It was time to be moving on. (And maybe get something to eat along the way.) She would be so thrilled to be done here and get back to her own comfortable bed, her cat, and people who spoke the same language she did. But for now, she still had a job to do.

T.B.C.

-- questions comments whatever? Review. Why not? Next time, Hermione returns home, the boys fight, and Lucius continues to snoop, while Ron lives on in middle-class obliviousness off screen enjoying a pint or two, and Ginny (also off screen and unmentioned) begins to suspect Harry is cheating on her but we won't be talking about that because who cares about her insecurities, really?


	11. spread out on the nightstand

Harry stood outside of Hermione's door, about ready to snap his wand in frustration. Damn her and her ridiculously complex wards. He knew she was back from her business trip. He knew that she was in there – he might not have been able to enter, but that hadn't stopped his detection spell from reacting to her presence.

"Damn it, Hermione! Open the door!" He cried for the nth time, as fruitlessly as all the times before. He knew there was something wrong with her, could feel it in his bones. She'd been supposed to return from her trip yesterday. She'd been supposed to meet him for lunch today to talk about his investigations. Hermione was not the type to renege on her promises, nor was she the type to flake completely without sending word. She could be late, but never forget a meeting entirely. "Goddamnit!" Harry cursed again, as he reached into his pocket for yet another one of George Weasley's clever, trouble-making inventions and set it to work unraveling the 5th or 6th layer of Hermione's wards.

He'd already been at this for half an hour already, and it would take him another forty-five minutes before Harry managed to detangle the final level of hexes and open the door. What sort of army had the woman thought she was defending herself from?

"Hermione?" Harry called out cautiously, as he made his way into the dim room. No lights were on, but the waning light of the sunset filtered in through the kitchen windows and stretched out through the small flat. Hermione's bedroom door was ajar, and Harry stepped towards it, to be greeted by the welcoming murr of her cat, -- what was his name again? -- as it appeared to twine around his legs. He was about to open the bedroom door when he was halted by a loud yell behind him.

"Oi! Granger! Why in hell are your wards down!? Anyone could just waltz on in here. . ."

"Malfoy." Recognizing the voice, Harry pivoted to face the other man, his wand held at the ready, "What are you doing here?" He made it sound like an accusation of nefarious intent.

"I could ask the same of you." Draco leaned nonchalantly back against the door frame, spinning his wand idly in his fingers, and pretending to a nonchalance he certainly didn't feel. "I'm not the one who just committed a little breaking and entry."

"I won't ask again." Harry raised his wand threateningly.

"Whatever." Draco laughed, even as the tension in his arm betrayed his readiness to block incoming hexes and retaliate with a few of his own, "You don't dare hex me. I was just stopping by to feed the cat, didn't Granger tell you?"

"You're lying."

"'Fraid not." Draco made a moue of discontent as Marcel sashayed over and headbutted his calves before leaning up against him as if to trip him up. "Bloody Menace! But if you're here, I guess the bitch must be back. Where the hell is she?" Seeing the slight dip in Harry's wand, Draco continued to act as if this meeting were an every day occurrence, and Harry not his nemesis of old.

As Harry continued to posture and splutter and make nonsensical threatening gestures that betrayed just how out of practice he actually was with dueling, Draco weighed the risks, made up his mind, and impatiently pushed past Harry and into Hermione's bedroom. "Bloody hell!"

He didn't believe what he saw there in front of him. Hermione was lying there, in bed, her nude body half-covered by a thin sheet. In the fading light of day, she was pale, so very pale. Her scars stood out in sharp relief against her skin, and Draco couldn't help but trace the scar on her chest that so fascinated him every time he saw her to its end at last, as it curved down her breast and around her nipple to end on the ladder of her all-too visible ribs. From where he stood, at first he thought she might be dead, and the chill that ran through him at that idea came as an unwelcome shock.

"What did you do to her?" Harry was once again pointing his wand at Draco, plainly itching to hex the blond man into oblivion.

"Nothing. More's the pity." Draco muttered, turning a scornful gaze on Harry, "I thought she would have told you." He could only bark a humorless laugh at the blank look on Harry's face, "Wonder what other secrets she's been keeping?" He didn't have to wonder. He already thought he knew. "Granger!" He pointedly ignored Harry and the threat of his quivering wand, and moved to the bedside to poke at Hermione with his own wand, as he cast the few, amateur, medical diagnostic spells he knew.

"Get away from her." Harry's voice was low and dangerous, as he knelt to pull the sheet up to cover Hermione's exposed breasts. The look he cast at Malfoy was cold and vindictive, as if accusing Draco of ogling his friend.

"As if I would want to look at such a scrawny specimen." Draco snorted with a humor he didn't feel as he tried to interpret the information his spells were providing him with.

Harry, who had turned to glare at Draco, saw the same results he did, and paled suddenly, all his animosity towards his enemy and his unexpected appearance in Hermione's flat forgotten. "We have to get her to St. Mungo's!"

"No." Draco barked. "You can't take her there."

"She's dying!"

"She's not going."

"You don't have a choice in the matter." Harry raised his wand to hex Malfoy, but it was already too late. The other man had already cast a silent incarcerous at Harry, and the invisible ropes were slithering around and binding him down even as he fought to fire off the hex in the correct direction.

"If you value the bitch, she can't go to St. Mungo's." Draco repeated. Much as he would love to have the responsibility off his shoulders, he couldn't let her sins be revealed. Not only because of the terms of the unbreakable she'd sworn him to, but also because he couldn't save the world alone.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" If looks could kill, Draco would be dead twenty times over. "You're wasting time here."

"No. You're wasting time." Draco taunted over his shoulder as he went to raid Hermione's potions stores. "If she goes to the hospital." He paused, returning to the bedroom with his hands full of vials, "They will do diagnostic spells. For curse damage, and the taint of dark magic such spells have left behind." Diagnostic spells which, unfortunately, could pick up not only the residue from having been the victim of a curse, but also the soul taint of having cast such a spell. "And when they do that, your friend will be questioned. And given the current administration's policies, it's likely that she will then be locked up for a very long time. Without trial. Is that what you want, Potter? Do you want to see your little friend sent to Azkaban?"

"What have you done to her?" Harry went on the attack, though, he knew, and could not let himself forget, that he had sensed the taint of an unforgivable on Hermione. And she herself had admitted to it, though not the specifics.

"Me?" Draco laughed again, "You still have it wrong, Potter. The question you should be asking, is what did she do to me? Think about it." He couldn't say she'd done an unforgivable on him. Literally, he couldn't say it. But maybe Potter would get a clue. "In the meantime, you saw my diagnostics. You're an apothecary. Which of these potions does she need?"

"I don't like what you're trying to imply, Malfoy."

"Shut it Potter. Which potion?"

"None of those will do any good." Harry shook his head as best he could despite the magical restraints.

"Not even this one?" Malfoy brandished a blue vial, mockingly, as if to test the depths of Harry's knowledge.

"Especially not that." Harry shuddered slightly. "She needs real medical attention. She needs the magical damage ward."

"No."

"Malfoy, Look at her, she's in a coma. She's burnt out her magic. I don't even know if I want to know how. Or what the two of you have been doing. If I ever find out that it was you to drain her power so. . . "

"Potter. I do not have the time for this. You want the truth. You need to fix her. I cannot tell you. Even if I wanted to. So cease your childish threats and do something. Now!"

"Don't you have a private healer?"

"He won't treat Mudbloods." Draco scoffed. Really, he knew Potter was dense, but there had to be limits.

"Fucking asshole."

". . . Potter. We do not have time for this."

"Fine. Alright, fine!" Harry growled, his fear for Hermione finally winning out over his distrust for Malfoy.

"About fucking time." Draco muttered as he released the bind on Harry.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Harry babbled to himself, while he leant over the bed to run his own tests on his comatose friend. "Jerhovek's bane? Takes too long to brew, Scorpius' revitalizer? No. What about . . . No. no no no." Finally he looked up at the impatient figure of Malfoy. "I don't know a potion that'll work."

"But?" Draco prompted, hearing the unfinished end of the sentence dangling in the air.

"But." Harry admitted reluctantly, "I think there is a way." He grit his teeth and raised his wand. "Accio Hermione's copy of Blodwyn's Lancet."

"Blood magic? Are you out of your fucking mind?" Draco jerked as the book sailed into the room.

"No more so than you, apparently." Harry returned absently. He hadn't actually thought that Hermione would have a copy of the banned book, he'd just been guessing on a hope and a prayer.

"Have you ever done blood magic?" Draco demanded. "That shit is dangerous."

"Once." Harry retorted tersely, "I'd rather never do it again. But. Without a hospital, the options are severely limited. We've got earth magic, the safe stuff. But she's used up almost all of hers, normal healing spells and potions rely on her innate magic to function, you can't just cast a healing spell and expect it to do all the work. It needs magic to work off of. So that leaves blood magic, and sex magic." He looked pointedly at Malfoy, "Either of which transfers the caster's magic to the recipient. I for one am not going to perform sex magic with Hermione. Even if I weren't married, and she weren't comatose, that's just. No."

"I couldn't agree with you more. Ugh." Draco frowned, though his eyes still kept returning to the shape of her breasts beneath the sheet, the sharp curve of her hip, the delicate lines of her scars...

No. Draco shook himself; he was many things, but he was not desperate or perverse enough to think of Granger in that way.

"There has to be something in the Dark Arts." The Dark Arts had a much more extensive range of capabilities than were allowable by more conventional means.

"You'd be one to know about that." Harry sniped pointedly.

"Yeah? Which of us once went around randomly casting dark hexes without knowing what they do?" Draco unconsciously rubbed his shoulder where he still bore the lingering scars from Harry's sectumsempra.

Harry sniffed, but had nothing to say to that gibe, and went back to his perusal of Hermione's tome. Absently he practiced flicking his wand in the required motions, mouthing the incantation he would have to say. Malfoy's presence at the edge of his vision was not doing a thing to help his concentration, and he couldn't help glancing at the blond man pacing the room, and wondering, with an ever-increasing sense of dread, just what scheme of Hermione's had he got himself into. What could she be involved in that she would have gone to their pureblood nemesis, a convicted felon, and all around arsehole before she would tell her friends? He knew he had to focus on this spell, if it was going to work at all, for blood magic was notoriously sensitive and perilous, but he just couldn't seem to do it.

Finally, Harry put the book down and turned around to see, with great surprise, that Malfoy had covered Hermione with an additional blanket, ceased his pacing, and was now crouched by the edge of her bed, petting the cat with one hand, and idly playing with a strand of her hair with the other, while muttering furiously into her ear. He couldn't catch all the words, but he did make out the occasional "Bitch" and "You can't die," followed by, "at least not yet," and "are you really going to tell me you wasted 14 years of your life to give up when it finally got interesting? Give me a break here." And "Damnit, breathe." Followed by another series of expletives. As if Malfoy could berate Hermione back into health, or at least consciousness.

"What?" Malfoy snapped, finally noticing Harry's stare. "Have you got this shit figured out yet? If you're going to end up killing the both of you, you'd better let me know now, so I can get the hell out of here. I'm not going to take the fall for your stupidity.

"Fuck off Malfoy. No one asked you." Harry sighed wearily, and took a deep calming breath, reminding himself that now was not the time to kill Malfoy. "You're in my way. Stand back. Preferably in the next town over."

"No fucking way." Still, Draco did stand and moved back to lurk in the doorway, while Harry accio'd a knife from the kitchen and tested the blade against his thumb.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Harry shrugged, the tension in his shoulders belying the casual words, "This could be a bit . . . explosive." He shuddered slightly, remembering all those years ago, a cold winter night, a dingy tent, the smell of Ron's burning cooking, as the three of them had sat on Harry's sleeping bag staring at pages of Hermione's tiny precise script, (one of many spells she'd copied from the restricted section over the years), listening to her detail why they needed to learn this spell, and when it might come in useful. She'd intended that she and Ron use it, if required, to boost Harry's magic, in case of battle, but he'd insisted that he had to learn it as well in case one of them were injured. She'd protested, but in the end, he'd had his way. He remembered the pain, the cold ache of magic being sucked from his body, and also how the backlash from the spell had picked all three of them up and flung them violently across the tent. Blood magic could be a wee bit temperamental. He'd just have to hope for the best.

Draco watched from the safety of the doorway as Harry wincingly sliced a shallow gash down his sternum, then dipped his finger in the welling blood and carefully traced out a series of runes on Hermione's forehead and cheeks, and dripped three drops into her slightly parted lips. Draco could feel the air in the room tingling, as if there were a build-up of static, or maybe ozone, when Harry began chanting. The cat most certainly felt it, for he jumped up and hightailed it into the kitchen as fast as his four legs would carry him. There was a sense of pressure, and the air thickened further, became hard to breathe, when Harry turned the blade, and cut Hermione as he'd cut himself, using her blood to write his own set of runes, and grimacing as he began the final series of syllables, with a series of complex wand motions.

There. It was visible now.

The energy was gathering, tethered to Harry by some ethereal thread, a thread that was violently severed when Harry smeared his hands down his bleeding chest, scooping the magic away from himself with crimson hands, and forcing it into Hermione, even as he slammed his hands against her naked chest.

There was a sound like thunder, a smell of burning ozone, with overlays of singed flesh, a flash of red, red light, darker than the red of any curse he'd ever seen before. Draco had to look away for a second, but he felt the impact against the wall, as Harry flew into it, only to slump to the floor like a discarded sack of trash. Not that he was paying all that much attention to Harry, not when his gaze was riveted to the sight of Hermione convulsing and arching off the bed as if she were having a seizure, every muscle rigid, her mouth wide, and gasping for breathe, while the magic fought its way inside her, pushing through her weakened defenses, riding on Harry's blood, and making its home in her every cell.

"Merlin's Hairy Balls." Draco gaped, as he took in the sight, only slightly relieved when the red glow encompassing Granger's body faded, and she sagged to the bed. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not that she had not regained consciousness during the ordeal. Had the spell worked or not? He stepped cautiously towards the bed, his hair prickling at the magical residue tainting the air, and bent down to feel Granger's pulse. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that it was there, steady and regular, and maybe slightly faster than it had been. Still, her breathing remained weak and shallow and her color continued to remind him of the pallor of week-dead inferi. Also, he'd thought with blood magic, the wound was supposed to heal during the spell, and Granger's gash was patently still oozing thickly. Gross. And he couldn't even cast a healing spell on it, unless Granger had absorbed enough power for her body to knit itself together under his guidance.

The spell had done something. He'd felt magic, he'd seen magic, and Granger's seizure was plainly the result of magic, as was the force that had slammed Potter into the wall. But whatever it had done, either it was the wrong thing, or it just wasn't enough. Trust Gryffindors to go rushing in and fucking things up. It was Potter after all. At least she wasn't dead, but his meager diagnostic spells showed that her magic level was still barely detectable. Bloody hell.

With a grimace, Draco turned to check on Potter. The boy-wonder was out cold, but he was breathing. "Useless shit." Draco couldn't resist kicking his former nemesis before levitating him out of the room and depositing his body on the couch. Potter could deal with his broken bones, if he had any, himself when he came to.

When he went back into Granger's bedroom, the cat was already there curled up beside his mistress, glaring at Draco in the way that only cats can, as if Draco were responsible for the whole mess. "What? Don't look at me!" Draco scowled right back. "Bloody familiars. She got herself into this mess, why should I have to be the one to get her out of it?" It was getting late, and he would have liked to go back to his apartment and get some sleep, but he knew he wouldn't. Much as she annoyed him, Granger was his partner, his accomplice, and he couldn't just leave her here or consign her to St. Mungos. He would find a cure, if he had to destroy the family library to do so. And if his use of Dark Magic were to show up Potter, then so much the better. In the meantime, he couldn't just leave Granger here, alone, with none but Potter to take care of her. Her condition was far too unstable for that. But Draco was clever and he had a solution, one that a few years ago he never would have considered. He whipped out his muggle cell phone, and dialed emergency services. Muggle medicine could not solve what was really wrong with her, but it could keep her alive until he found a way.

While he waited for the ambulance, Draco moved Potter's unconscious body to the kitchen, disillusioning him for good measure, wiped the runes and blood from Granger's face and chest, and cast a few heavy concealing charms on the gash so that it looked like nothing more than an insignificant cat scratch, which would arouse no undue questions.

---

"I don't know." Draco repeated for the tenth time, "I thought she was out of town, I just stopped by to feed the cat. I don't know when she got in, or how long she was there for, all I know is, I heard this noise from the bedroom, I thought maybe there was a burglar or something, so I went in, and she was twitching and gasping, and when it stopped, she wouldn't wake up. Can't you help her?" He was in the emergency room of a muggle hospital, and he was getting sick of all these different doctors asking him the same fucking questions. "No, I'm not aware that she has a history or seizures, as far as I know she's healthy. No, I don't think she takes any medication. Was she depressed? How should I know? We weren't exactly close. What? Hell No, I'm not her boyfriend. We just work together sometimes. Family? I doubt it. I think her parents are dead. Friends? She's a loner. I don't know. . . Look, I have to go, I really can't help you. I don't know anything!" So many lies, but he was a Slytherin, its what he was good at, clever little lies that tumbled smoothly from his lips. Was he going to tell a bunch of bloody idiotic muggles about her abuse of poisonous potions and the black depression that came with that? The fact that it was depletion of magic that was killing her? Or that there was a 6 cm slice running down her sternum from a failed spell to revive her? Hell no, he was not. At least they'd stuck a needle in her and started pumping her full of fluids, and would check her vitals on a regular basis. They'd also dumped on some Muggle anticonvulsants, which he would just have to hope would not interfere with any potions she might have taken recently.

Finally, what seemed like hours later, they'd admitted her and he was free to go. Thank Merlin they hadn't decided that he'd assaulted her or anything. That would not have helped. He didn't think he could obliviate or confound that many people in order to make his getaway.

Draco sighed, walked out into the dreary night, and apparated away. He was exhausted and yet his work had only just begun.

---

"Draco! What are you doing home? Not that I'm not glad to see you, but. . ." Narcissa Malfoy was somewhat alarmed by the unannounced and precipitous arrival of her son. It wasn't like Draco to just stop by, much less in the middle of the night, in the middle of the week even, "Did something happen?" She was a mother who'd witnessed her family nearly destroyed by war. She had a right to be concerned. And if she wanted to overreact once in a while, who was really going to tell her she was in the wrong? No one. Draco's appearance wasn't exactly reassuring either. His clothes were rumpled and disheveled, and she could swear there was blood on his collar. Not to mention the not-quite-a-smell that clung to him, as if he'd gotten a little too near to some severely potent magics.

"I'm fine mother." Draco tried his best to sound reassuring, but he could tell that his mother simply wasn't buying it. "I just need to find something in the library."

"In the middle of the night? Surely it can wait until morning?"

"Probably," Draco shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, "But I'd really rather just get this over and done with."

"What are you looking for?" She knew when her boy was being evasive. He wasn't as clever as he thought, and she'd been a Slytherin long before he was born, not to mention, having lived with Lucius for all these years.

"Not quite sure." Draco ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "But I'll know it when I see it." To stave off further conversation he turned and headed for the library, ignoring his mother's frustrated grimace. He figured he'd best get started before Father found out he was here. The old man was already getting too suspicious and nosy as it was.

---

"Son."

Draco had locked and warded the library doors behind him, but he was not surprised at how little time it had taken Lucius to unravel the wards. After all, he was lord of the Manor, the house wanted to cooperate with him.

"Father." Draco didn't look up. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't about to stop his frantic search. Sometimes he wished there was a magical equivalent of the internet, or even a simple indexing system to tell what was in these books without having to open each one. Would a table of contents hurt so much to write? Not to mention the fact that some of the more potent Dark books were cursed or warded and took precious extra time to safely open.

Lucius coldly surveyed the disaster area that his library had become. There were stacks of books on the floor, piles of open books covering the desk and the coffee table and the end table, even on the settee and some of the other chairs scattered around. Draco was hunched over the desk, flipping feverishly through the pages of one of the family's ancient spell books.

"Your mother told me I'd find you in here. She didn't say that you'd come to destroy generations of work and meticulous archiving."

"Such was not my intent."

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

"Can't. Sorry. I'm busy." If he hadn't been so intent on his reading, Draco would have rolled his eyes at his father's authoritarian tone.

*Crack!* Draco jumped as Lucius slammed his cane down on the desk in front of Draco's nose.

"You will listen to me." Lucius hissed. "What trouble are you in? And what have you done?"

"I'm not in any trouble." Finally, Draco met his sire's stormy gaze. "And I could care less whether or not you believe me. But there is some one else that is, and if I don't find what I need, they will probably die."

"You're a businessman. Not a Medic, Nor an Auror. What business of yours is it who lives and who dies? Have you not learned to leave such things to the proper authorities?"

"It's never that simple. And you know it." Isn't that what Lucius had raised him to believe in the first place?

"But it can be. Unless there is something else you are not telling me."

"Of course there's something else I'm not telling you!" Draco cried out in exasperation. "Because it doesn't concern you! I'm not involved in mad schemes to take over the world! I'm not embroiled in any kind of terrorist organization, and I am not in any kind of trouble. Nor, would what I need to do tonight lead to harm coming to any one, or benefit anyone with malicious intent. So if you're satisfied, can you please leave me to get on with it." The implication was clear, _I am not you._

"No, son. I am Not satisfied. Not in the least." Lucius murmured. "Tell me, what will you do if I forbid you the use of this library?"

"There are other libraries. Other books."

"Do you even know what you look for?"

"I know what I need."

"But not the spell? Dangerous son, very dangerous."

"Oh, I know. But the alternatives are worse."

"Are they now? Curious. . . Tell me, son, how does this relate to that memory you showed me the other week?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Are you trying to provoke me?"

"I don't have to try." Draco slammed shut the book he was skimming and with a flick of his wand sent it flying onto one of the piles covering the coffeetable. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time than harass me with your paranoid fantasies? Old Man."

Lucius went still with rage, his features hardening as if made of stone. How Dare Draco address him with such disrespect after all he'd done?

Draco looked up, and sighed. He knew he'd gone too far, "Look, all I'm trying to find is a simple healing spell." He offered up the trifle like an apology.

"In Books of the Dark Arts?" Lucius arched a skeptical eyebrow, his frown unbending only slightly.

"Why not? Dark, Light. It's all an arbitrary distinction. It's how you use the magic that counts." Draco mused distractedly, only spending half of his attention on his father. "Ah-Ha! Accio _Splintering Spells Both Large and Small_ and _The Union of the Raven and the Fox: a History of Norman Magical Alliances and their failures_" The books came sailing to his hand from across the room and Draco smiled thinly, "Where in Creation did the family actually acquire these books? And how did these get classified as dark magic? Honestly!"

Lucius paled as much as his already wan skin could allow. He had no idea what Draco was searching for, but those books were far more potent than their titles would imply. His worry only increased when Draco paused and added a few additional titles to his list, "Accio_ Morgana's mesmerizing magics, Sphinx feathers and foxfire: potions and poisons you don't want to mess with," _and, with a long-suffering sigh, almost as an afterthought, "I hope it doesn't come to this, _Sex magic through the ages: a compendium for the advanced practitioner._"

"Draco. . ." Lucius tried to maintain a sternly patrician tone, but couldn't help the quaver of apprehension that infused his voice at his son's choice in books. The Dark Lord, Azkaban, and now this. He was simply too old for all this drama.

"I'm sorry, Father." And really, truly, he was. Sorry to have to keep his father in the dark, to lie to his mother, to take all these burdens upon himself. "It's just something I have to do." No Doubt about that.

Draco winced as his father reached out a hand to him, and, rising quickly, headed for the door. He couldn't afford to waste any more time. Wisely, Lucius forbear to say more, knowing as he did, through years of experience, when to withdraw, regroup, and do some serious scheming of his own. Fortunately, Draco was so preoccupied he failed to remember that several of these more . . . volatile . . . tomes were protected by a tracking spell to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands, at least for very long. Finally something today was working in Lucius' favor.

---

Ginny sighed and buried her face in her arms as she slumped at the kitchen table. It was one AM, and Harry wasn't home. Hadn't owled, hadn't flooed. She'd checked the shop, she'd flooed Ron, her parents, even Luna and Neville, and no one seemed to know where he was. She'd also owled Hermione (why Hermione wasn't connected to the floo network, Ginny would never understand), but the owl hadn't come back yet. How hard could it be to find her? Usually when she had to owl Hermione, the bird was been back within an hour. This time it had been three. (Ginny had no way of knowing that the poor owl had spent its night flapping around a remote muggle hospital, stymied by the lack of owl-friendly doors or windows.)Visions of Harry struck dead by neo-death eaters, or run down by one of those insane muggle automobiles ran through her mind, followed by darker images of her husband with another woman, someone younger, without the stretchmarks of pregnancy. Or worse, perhaps with Hermione; Ginny had always wondered about something going on between Harry and her – They never did talk about those months they spent sharing a tent after Ron ran off and left them during the year of Voldemort's reign. . . .

Ginny shook her head. No. there had to be a reasonable explanation for Harry's disappearance, his failure to come home for dinner, family time, for her! Right now, however, she'd be damned if she could think what that might be. She stifled a sob, wishing she could call the Aurors, but not daring to, afraid of what possible scandal could result, imagining the headlines now. "Man who lived, leaves wife." "Savior of the wizarding world slips away to secret sex partner" "Harry Potter, killed in freak potions accident." How could she ever live it down?

For now, she resigned herself to wait, and worry, alone with her suspicions and her fears.

---

"What happened?" Harry groaned and winced at the light as he opened his eyes.

"You fucked up." Draco didn't even look up from the book he was poring over.

"What do you mean? Where's Hermione?" Harry began to panic as he registered the fact that he was lying sprawled across Hermione's tattered couch where Draco had carelessly dumped him.

"I mean, Potter. That your spell didn't do much good. Big flash, big power surge, big bang. Threw you across the room. Granger's still out. I took her to the hospital."

"You took her to the hospital? What happened to dire threats of bad shit happening if St. Mungo's got their hands on her?" Harry didn't need to ask about the backlash of the spell. After all, he'd been expecting to be thrown across the room. He'd just hoped his suffering would do his friend some good.

"No, you moron. Not St. Mungo's. The Hospital. The muggle hospital."

"A Malfoy? Using muggle things? Whatever happened to pureblood supremacy?"

"Oh grow up, Potter." Draco scoffed. "Look at the world around you. Surely you remember the war? Oh wait, I forgot, you still think it's going on. Get over yourself and move on like the rest of us did. Muggles have many useful things. I'd be a fool to neglect them." After all, a Malfoy always landed on his feet. He'd bet Potter had so thoroughly put his muggle past behind him that he didn't even use a cell phone. So who was the idiot with their head in the sand then?

"Fuck you Malfoy." Harry spat and tried to sit up, only to realize that the dull ache in his arm that he'd been assuming was a bruise, was in fact just a warning sign that he'd broken his arm. "Ow! Fucker, you couldn't even heal this? What are you doing? So you just dumped Hermione and now you're swanning around her apartment as if nothing was wrong? Don't you even care?"

"What do you know?" Draco was seriously too tired to take this dumb shit. "While you've been napping the night away, I've been trying to find an effective cure. Which is more than you can say. So shut the fuck up and bugger off. You're not wanted here.

"And this is not your house to kick me out of. Nor your place to tell me what to do."

"Get over yourself." Draco sighed, and with that, turned back to his research and pointedly ignored Potter, until the other man finally noticed the time, flipped out, and hastily left, already dreading the confrontation with his wife that was sure to greet his arrival home.

---

"Hmmm. . . ." Lucius Malfoy surveyed the unprepossessing brick building. His tracking spells had led him here, but there apparently were some strong wards inside that were preventing him from pinpointing the exact location of his books. Ah well, nothing for it but to start checking the name plates at the buzzers, and hope he found one he recognized. Buzzers! A Muggle design, allowing this wizarding complex to visibly exist next to its muggle neighbors. What was the world coming to? Witches and Wizards ditching their robes, hiding in plain sight from sheep who, if they knew of their existence, would not hesitate to destroy them. It made Lucius long for the good old days.

Still, the Muggle way had its uses, as Lucius was to discover a few short minutes later.

"Granger, H.J." An eyebrow shot up in consternation. "Oh dear."

TBC

--well so, another chapter. Yes? Yes. But late. Very late. And you know why? Oh I bet you do. Scarcity of reviews = scarcity of updates. What is motive to write if no one cares, eh? I may as just tell myself stories in my head (which honestly, takes less time and the visuals are better). So review, or I will cease to update at all. Damnit.


	12. Salvation is another chance

The new day dawned, sullen and overcast, the sun giving up in its quest to penetrate the morning fog, much like Draco wished to give up on his quest to unearth an actual useless spell in these books he'd taken. _Morgana's Mesmerizing Magics_? Love spells, lust spells, Curses for a spurned lover, Dark hexes to draw an unsuspecting crush into your web. Spells for the impotent, the inadequate, and the shy. The table of contents had made it seem like there were spells for restoring one's magical power. But no, in truth, that meant sexual power. Useless. Draco threw that book on the discard pile. _Sphinx Feathers and Foxfire?_ Possibly useful. There were a number of somewhat vaguely described potions that sounded as if they might help, however, the ingredients were highly illegal, the instructions unclear, and the potions highly volatile. Draco did not want to blow himself up or get himself arrested for the import of banned ingredients derived from endangered creatures. Granger was not worth that. Maybe Potter could be conned into working that angle. (The very thought of Potter had Draco shaking his head in disgust. What kind of world was it that forced him to contemplate actual cooperation and collaboration with the annoying swot-who-lived-to-torture-him?) _The Union of the Raven and the Fox_, although, technically speaking a history, not a spellbook, did have a number of well described, powerful dark magic spells contained somewhere within its thousand pages of densely worded, hand-scribed text. Not to mention that, having been written before the invention of the automatic quill or magical-ized printing press, it wasn't in the very best of conditions. Still, he felt that progress was being made, and therefore he could allow himself a few hours of sleep before getting back to the task at hand.

In his distracted exhaustion, Draco failed to notice the well-dressed, and remarkably similar-looking figure lurking about the entrance, glowering as Draco passed him by. Of course, it helped that Lucius was disillusioned, as well as having honed lurking to a fine art over the course of his lifetime. (Admittedly, staring haughtily down his aristocratic nose was what he was known for, but you don't get ahead in secret conspiracies simply by your demeanor alone. Lurking, and the resultant blackmail material thus obtained grease the wheels of power).

---

Later that day, after a brief nap and several restorative mugs of bitter coffee, black as sin—what Draco had once called the "Snape hangover cure" after the man the unpleasant brew most reminded him of, Draco resumed his literature search. He'd left the books at Granger's apartment, under the theory that his father couldn't reclaim books he couldn't find, and thus was forced to put up with Granger's cat, as well as the prospect that Potter might return.

Draco was used to keeping his own company, and enjoyed the peace and solitude of Granger's messy flat. No office floo, or phone, or email, or secretary, or owl to interrupt him. He even found Granger's eclectic library of use in cross referencing some obscure notations in one of his books. It was almost a let-down when he found a spell that just might do. It didn't sound too risky, and while it touched on the dark arts, nothing about it seemed outright evil. There were no illicit potions ingredients, no blood-letting, and nothing in the description sounded explosive. He was a little disturbed about the context of the spell, and some of the circumstances it had been used for in the past. Like Potter's stab at blood magic, this was a power-sharing spell. Unlike that one, however, this spell drained the magical source slowly, transferring power steadily for an indefinite period of time. The book had referred to the spell as an incubus charm, and made reference to non-consensual theft of magic, magical enslavement and the like, all of which had resulted in this spell being banned. It was also fiendishly difficult to perform correctly, but Draco hadn't come in second in his class at Hogwarts by his pedigree alone.

---

_Muggles_. Draco thought disgustedly as he inveigled his way into the hospital where he'd stashed Granger. Sartorially challenged, polluting, magically handicapped, noisy, and burdened with a myriad of diseases wizarding kind had long since conquered. Also, just as gullible and easily bribed as wizards. By the time Draco had figuratively girded his loins, donned his mental armor, and reviewed the spell one last time, visiting hours in the hospital were long since over. Still, that was no challenge for one as skilled in the ways of manipulation as a Malfoy, without even casting a single confundus. Some days you had to take what small victories you were handed. Granger had ended up in intensive care, and Draco knew he was going to have to act fast to perform the spell before an inquisitive nurse interrupted.

Granger was lying, slightly propped up in bed, IVs running in both arms, a heart monitor blipping away to itself in the corner, the blood pressure monitor quietly wheezing as it cycled: in all, the perfect picture of a comatose invalid. Only her chest shallowly rising and falling under its own power told him that she was putting the slightest effort into keeping herself alive. It would have to do.

Malfoy drew the privacy curtain, settled himself into the bedside chair, drew his wand, and began to chant, concentrating on the cadence of each perfect syllable, and the choreography of his wandwork as he wove the spell in the air between them.

---

Malfoy, Sr. was just about ready to snap his wand in frustration or dismay. He had learned much in the past 12 hours, and all of it disturbed him. He was certain of one thing: There was a connection between his son and the Granger girl. But the devil is in the details. The huge influx of raw materials Malfoy industries had seen in the past month? He'd traced the trucks to a warehouse leased by Granger. Upgrades of questionable provenance in Muggle subsidiaries of Malfoy Industries? Installed by Granger. But how could he reconcile this with what he'd seen in Draco's mind – the woman suffering the effects of Blue Champagne? It had to be Granger. He hadn't got a better explanation at this time, for sure. And what about the books Draco had liberated from the Malfoy library last night? Some seriously dark and potent books those, with few innocent or harmless spells. What then of Draco's strange activities at the Ministry?

Lucius knew it was all connected, but for him the single most important question – and the one for which he had no answer was: Who was controlling whom? Was Draco the master and Granger the puppet? Or vice versa? Or was there some one else controlling the both of them? Was there a conspiracy? And what was the true intent?

Lucius could just not make it all add up. And that was simply not a tolerable situation. After the life he'd led, and all the things he'd seen and done, he couldn't help but picture the worst possible scenario.

". . . Draco, my son. What in Merlin's name have you gotten yourself into?"

-------

It was dark. And cold. And she could not breathe. Could not move. What would be the point anyway? She was tired. So very tired. It was hard to hold a thought together. Hermione could feel her thoughts shredding apart like clouds on a windy day. What was the point of thought anyway? Every thing hurt. Life was hard, her cause was Quixotic at best. Why shouldn't she despair. Why shouldn't she fade away into the cold? Embers of a dying fire. Her awareness came and went. She'd dream, and slip away again. No idea of the passing time, or where she was.

Dimly she could feel her pulse, sluggish and weak. She knew something was wrong with her, knew she was ill. It was too hard to care, though. All too easy to dissolve in the cold and the dark. All too easy to let that small spark of life be extinguished.

She'd pushed her body and her magic too far, for too long. Now she had to pay the price. Of cold and dark, a numbing ache that consumed her, and despair that she could not overcome. Not when she was so alone.

Thought slipped away again, and when it returned, it was to the sound of chanting. Chanting that reached into the dark cavern in which she was lost. Penetrated through the veil of exhaustion and mental collapse. How odd, to hear chanting when the rest of the world had fallen away. How odd that she was not alone.

She had been alone for so long. Fourteen years alone. Carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. And these past few years? Stretched too thin, her magic taxed to the breaking point. She had broken. All it took was those last few factories she'd installed her equipment in, powered it up, took up the burden of their charms. She'd been near collapse by the time she'd staggered to the airport to catch her flight back to London. Perhaps that was why she'd been delirious enough to think she could apparate home. So eager for sleep that a cab just wouldn't do. A wonder she hadn't splinched herself. She dimly remembered falling against the door, stumbling across the carpet, stripping out of her travel-worn clothes on collapsing into bed. The straw that broke the camel's back.

Since then, she'd been like this. Lost. In the dark.

Time passed, the world spun on, and Hermione Granger slumbered a soul-deep sleep.

---

There was chanting. She remembered that. Not all dark and silent. Chanting, a snarling tenor. Angry chanting. So familiar. But that too slipped away.

---

Draco Malfoy watched the cardiac monitor blipping away at Granger's bedside. Trust a muggle to make something so annoying yet so mesmerizing. Her pulse was stronger, blood pressure improving. She was breathing deeper, and they'd decreased her oxygen. It was better. But it wasn't enough.

He knew he'd performed the spell correctly. Nothing had exploded, he hadn't been thrown across the room. But he was dead tired. He'd known he'd feel different, but not that it would be so taxing. How much magic would it take to replete her stores enough for her to regain consciousness? And was there anyone else he could share the burden with?

The monitor beeped on, as Draco Malfoy sat and drowsed the night away.

---

She hurt. Hermione was used to that. The crushing ache. This was different. This was the electric tingle of sensation of returning circulation, when you shake the pins and needles out a sleeping limb. But everywhere. Sharp and inescapable. She fizzed. She burned, and itched. Not as bad as the cruciatus, true, but still not something you could just sleep through.

----

Draco blinked. Did Granger just twitch a little? Yes. She had, a soft sigh, a flicker of her eyelids.

It was about bloody time the bitch woke up.

---

She didn't want to wake up. She knew she was sleeping. But despite the cold and the pain it had been a relief of sorts to not have to deal. Were she awake, reality would come crashing back down. It would be simpler to lie here a little longer.

---

Hermione Granger opened her eyes. As if she would ever be able to shirk her responsibility.

"Malfoy?" She croaked inquiringly.

"Finally decide to join the world of the living, did we Granger?" Draco drawled, not letting any of the apprehension he had felt over the past few days color his tone.

"How. . . How long?"

"Not where am I? What happened?" He couldn't help but taunt her. It was what he always did after all.

"How Long?" She wasn't stupid. She knew what she'd done to herself. And she could guess she was in a hospital. She patently wasn't in her apartment. Besides, that was not what was really important.

"Two days since you missed your lunch date with scarface."

Hermione closed her eyes. It could have been so much worse. "You look like Hell, Malfoy."

"Those who live in glass houses, Granger. Looked in a mirror recently? Besides," Draco sniffed, "You should see Potter. You really shouldn't let your children play with the big boy spells."

"Oh god. What did you do to him?" Please, Merlin. Don't let them have been dueling.

"Me? Nothing." Draco really couldn't pull off the innocent look so well, "I was a perfect gentleman. Besides, I was too busy trying to make sure you weren't dead. You should be asking what Potter did to himself, and you."

She couldn't muster the energy to do more than stare blankly, until Draco sighed and continued, "Blood Magic, Granger? You actually tried to teach the boy wonders blood magic?"

". . . That was over a decade ago!" She protested weakly, a chill running down her spine at the thought of what could have gone wrong. "Is he ok?" Her eyes widened as another realization hit her. How close to death had she been for Harry to risk something so stupid?

"He'll live." Draco shrugged carelessly. "Which is more than we thought of you. What in hell were you thinking? Do you know what you've done to yourself? Were you trying to die?!" He was working himself up into a right fury now. But Hermione was too exhausted to fight with him. Already she felt herself slipping back into a more normal sleep. The worst was over for today.

T.B.C

Well, that chapter kinda sucked. Dragged most horribly. And took way the hell longer than it should have to write. Don't know what's wrong with me these days. Just not feeling the inspiration. Alas. Don't be too surprised if this fic dies before any of us figure out where it was supposed to go. –cm.


	13. They keep me thinking

There were consequences of course. He would have been stupid not to have anticipated that. The only questions were, what sorts of consequences?

Well, there were the Potter consequences—of Harry stumbling home from Hermione's flat those few days ago, straight into the wrathful arms of his wife, who demanded to know where he'd been, and how he'd gotten so disheveled, and who was she – the slut? She knew he'd been with someone and wasn't she – the mother of his children – good enough for him anymore? And it had better not have been that frumpy Granger, and what did Hermione have that she didn't anyway? There had been no letup of questions and accusations with nary a pause for breath, much less a space adequate for Harry to get in the slightest interjection or protest. It had been a fiery night in the Potter household, one that had been followed by a week of Ginny's frosty cold shoulder. Harry had tried to explain that there had been an emergency and that nothing had been going on. But his inability to explain just what the nature of the emergency was or provide the name of the hospital to which Hermione had supposedly gone, had Ginny's suspicions raging at full tilt. Harry just wasn't going to be able to talk himself out of the doghouse like that.

Then there were the Malfoy consequences – Draco heard through the grapevine at work that his father had been asking questions, and going through paperwork. Nosing around where for a decade he'd been content to let Draco manage with no questions asked. Draco had been avoiding his father lest he be asked uncomfortable questions about the books he'd borrowed that Draco just wasn't prepared to answer. As a result, he hadn't gone home for his usual Sunday visit, and Narcissa was upset at her only son's delinquent behavior, while Lucius' suspicions continued to grow.

And there were the consequences to Hermione and Draco's relationship. If that's what you could call it. Where instead of being merely co-conspirators, they began to have to treat each other as human beings instead. While Hermione was still in the hospital recovering enough strength to go home (the muggle doctors having no clue why she was ill or recovering now, but willing to run endless panels of tests regardless), Draco had made some cutting remark about how pathetic it was that he was her only visitor, and didn't she have any family to call? In her exhaustion, Hermione not been able to school her features, and had burst into tears. That was how Draco learned that Hermione hadn't had parents or family since she'd obliviated them during the war. Memory charms were forever. She'd so effectively isolated herself since then, that now all she had was Ron (who she couldn't call as he'd ask too many questions), and Harry (who was effectively under house arrest under Ginny's watchful eyes). Draco had been shocked, and a little horrified, but at the same time relieved to see that Granger's efficient mask of "World-Saving Martyr" had a real person underneath. Since then, he'd made an effort, albeit a small one, to not snark at her so much, and she in turn had tried to be less bossy, collaborating with him, talking strategy and modifying their goals and timetable based on his input, rather than simply trying to autocratically direct their efforts from first her hospital bed, and later from her sick bed at home.

But most unpredictable of all, there were the magical consequences. Draco had to admit that it could have been so much worse, still, he disliked being tired all the time, feeling like Granger was sucking the life out of him. Somehow he hadn't imagined that the magical drain would be so bad. He'd thought that she'd get up to strength quickly and be able to go about her business, that the emptying of her warehouse of bottomless barrels would allow her to recover quickly. He'd underestimated just how much magic Granger had begun with, and how much was expended every day in just maintaining her charms across the world. No wonder she had resorted to poisoning herself to keep her strength up.

He'd poured out all the bottles of the stuff he could find in her flat, but he couldn't help but wonder if she had more stashed in places hidden from him. He would not be at all surprised were he to find that to be the case.

There were other consequences to the magic, but these took a while to manifest, and when they did, they took Draco and Hermione by surprise.

At first, Draco hadn't realized what was happening. You don't think about your body as long as it is working well for you. You chest heaves, your lungs expand and deflate, your heart squeezes blood over and over, arteries and veins fluttering with the wave of blood. Your eyes adjust to the light in the room, your capillaries dilate in heat, constrict in cold and temperature is maintained. Until, all of a sudden, it isn't.

He'd been sitting in a boring meeting with some low level Ministry functionary, when his breath had hitched all of a sudden, and for a few breaths, he'd suddenly been breathing rapidly and shallowly, and his heart had sped up a few beats, almost as if he was having a panic attack, or a little run of cardiac arrhythmia. But it had lasted maybe 10 seconds at the most, and Draco had covered his sudden discomfiture with a coughing fit. That evening, he'd been walking down the dimly lit street, when suddenly his pupils constricted, momentarily blinding him. Again, it lasted but a few seconds, and he didn't relate it to the episode from earlier in the day. These episodes continued throughout the week, getting longer and more distracting, until Draco finally had to realize that something was wrong. His body was not acting like it belonged to him, but rather, he felt as though he were breathing with someone else's lungs, that his heart was beating in time to theirs. The matter finally clinched for him one night when he was woken abruptly from a deep and cozy sleep by the gasping breaths that were being wrenched out of his chest. His heart was pounding and he couldn't stop the choked hiccups and sobs emanating from his body. Instinctively he recognized this as the feel of someone crying, but he didn't feel the least bit sad, and anyway, it didn't feel like him, not the way he would cry of his own accord.

It hit him all at once. The spell he had cast was a link to Granger. He'd thought it a one way link, draining him of his magic and only of his magic. Apparently he'd been wrong. For some reason, his body was attuning itself to Granger's, their hearts beating as one, their lungs expanding in unison. How horrible was that? To feel as though your body no longer responded to you? The books had mentioned nothing like this.

He wondered if Granger was receiving flashes of his autonomics, and if so, could he make it as uncomfortable for her as her sobs were making him?

She was, and he could. He hadn't even thought about he was doing that one night, wanking alone in his apartment before heading off to bed, hadn't stopped to wonder if Granger could experience his rapid pulse, his flushed and sweaty skin, and dilated eyes. Much less wonder if she could interpret the signals she was receiving in flashes.

Their next meeting was uncomfortable and more stilted and formal than things had been for quite some time. Granger was icily cold and refused to meet his eyes. Neither of them brought up the question of the uncomfortable bond between them and if the other was experiencing the same bursts of sensation.

They didn't have to. They could see and feel for themselves, how much worse it was when they were in the same room together.

---

"Potter." Draco sneered in Harry's face as he answered the door to Hermione's flat.

"Malfoy." Harry shoved past his erstwhile foe, into Hermione's dimly lit parlor.

"Hi, Harry!" Hermione tried to be cheerful, as she weakly tried to sit up from her cozy nest on the couch. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"It's about bloody time he did." Draco grumbled irritably. "A slug could get results faster than him."

"Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, "Don't start!

"Harry. Please tell me you've got some good news for me!"

"Well. . . ." Harry temporized as he edged Draco out for Hermione's desk chair, leaving Draco to transfigure his own seat for the meeting. "I don't know if you'd call it good, per se."

"Bet he couldn't find anything."

"As if you could have analyzed the chemical composition of Pumpkin Juice. You were never as good at Potions as you liked to pretend. Everyone knew you only got the grades you did because of Snape."

"Boys! Stop acting like teenagers. We have to work together! Sit down and be civil." Under her breath she muttered at the edge of audibility, "And Malfoy runs a company successfully? God help us all." From his seat across the room, Draco scowled as his breath momentarily huffed in tune with hers.

"Fine. Right. Then." Harry started to pull his notes from his bag, enlarging them to poster size as he went. "I went to that muggle chemist friend of yours over at the Uni, and I've been making extensive use of his mass spec, and I think I may have found something."

"So, what's in the Juice, and how do we stop it?"

"It's not that simple."

"Well?"

Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh, "You're such a brat, Malfoy. I distilled and analyzed extract from pumpkin juice, of different brands and countries of origin, and compared it to extract of various types of muggle pumpkins, and a whole pile of squashes." It had taken what felt like forever to run so many samples; zucchini, summer squash, Hubbard, acorn, turban, butternut, jack-o-lantern, sugar pumpkin, spaghetti squash. The list went on. "I found a whole bunch of compounds that only existed in juicing pumpkins and not in related squash that were also found in our pumpkin juice, but nothing that was unique to commercial pumpkin juice. Though, I guess that shouldn't be a surprise, otherwise people who drink home-pressed pumpkin juice wouldn't be affected."

"What would you know about the effects of pumpkin juice?" Draco taunted.

"I'm not stupid, Malfoy." Harry's brow furrowed, as he chose to ignore Draco's muttered "Could have fooled me."

"I stopped drinking the stuff before Hermione left for China. – Hermione, why didn't you tell me before!?"

"I. . . I. . ." She really didn't have a good excuse, she'd convinced herself that she'd been trying to protect him, but deep down she knew that wasn't the case, that she'd been selfish. Trying to keep everything to herself. For herself. The ultimate martyr.

"It doesn't matter." Harry brushed aside her stammered reply. It mattered, but now was not the time to quibble, "When Malfoy and I found you. . . I noticed your book here," and he sheepishly held up the book he'd liberated from her desk those weeks ago. "I read it. And I tried to talk to Gin about it, but it was like she couldn't hear me. Wasn't just ignoring me, but couldn't heed me. And so I knew what the juice is doing. So, I've been testing compounds on myself. – just a little, less than a hundredth of what's in a glass, a few molecules. Just enough that when I pick up the book and try to read a page it feels as though I've been stuck on one line forever. Not enough to forget everything. And I found the compound." Harry waved his wand at his notes highlighting the molecule in question. "But I don't know how it does what it does. It's just an organic molecule, a flavenoid. How can one molecule be the carrier for such a complicated spell? And who could do something like that? Why would they want to eradicate wizarding kind?" His voice was plaintive as he slumped back, wondering if he could let himself feel despair for the coming fate of his world.

"So, we have a catalyst, but still no way to trace what spell is being used, and no way to figure out who could have done such a thing?" Hermione scrunched her forehead in concentration.

"Are we so sure it's a spell?" Harry asked, "Remember, nothing in the juice has any magical signature that I can analyze."

"Of course it's a spell. You dimwit."

"No, wait. Harry, what is the structure again? Could this compound function as a psychotropic drug?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh. . . Clever, Granger." Malfoy blurted involuntarily as the same thought hit him, "What if this is a hypnotic agent, that simply renders us suggestible to cues in the environment?

"Oh! Like a subliminal message, like people used to be all worried about in adverts on the telly." Harry finally got it.

". . . Or," Hermione was already moving on to new theories, "What if we're still looking at this all wrong? We know this compound is in some way responsible, and we know Harry cannot detect the residue of a spell on it, but what if what we're looking for is a different kind of magic.

"Oh come on Granger, Letetesque's theories were disproved Ages ago."

"Like people haven't been wrong before?"

"What are you two on about?" Harry looked askance at his two compatriots, who, in turn glared at each other, only to glance away as their eyes met and they realized they were once again breathing in unison.

"Letetesque postulated that magic came in different forms. There's the magic that we use, that fills us and effects our spells, that he called Potency. Then there's things that are magic, like unicorns, that don't do magic, they merely are. . .. which he called Essence"

"And we know that's crap, because we all know that you can use Unicorn hair and horn and blood in potions and it does things."

"But no one has ever demonstrated exactly how the magic in potions works!"

"So?"

Harry sat back and watched as Hermione and Draco continued to spout theories and bash each other's ideas. He'd never thought there'd come a day when he'd watch such unlikely allies immerse themselves in such a lively and amicable debate. Hell, if anyone had told him a few months ago that he'd be involved in this conspiracy, he'd have laughed and doubted their sanity.

"Well, so." Draco summed up as Hermione sagged back into the couch, her cat purring upon her lap, and her meager store of energy flagging and failing her, "We know more than we do before, but still not enough, and we have several new avenues to research. Even after you throw out some of Granger's more insane ideas."

"Malfoy. . ."

"Shut it Potter. I'm not finished." Draco glanced around the room, his fluttering pulse telling him that Hermione was not going to be able to remain conscious much longer. "There's only three of us. We need to focus on attainable goals. Right now, we have too many problems, and not enough man power or time. So what do we prioritize? Unraveling the mystery of who wants us to extinctify ourselves? Continuing Granger's insane save-the-world-from-muggle-pollution fight? The work at the ministry in promoting muggle-magic awareness? The campaign to deregulate Muggle-magic trade? Three people can only do so much."

"We need to recruit help." Harry set his jaw, "I can reactivate the DA."

"You have got to be kidding me, Potter!" Draco laughed, "Call in your school-day cronies? It's been a decade! They have lives. Do you think they're going to want to commit themselves to danger and a secret society, now that they have families and careers at stake?" Of course not. The Death Eaters hadn't wanted to be reformed after Voldemort's resurrection, but they'd hardly had a choice. Join or Die, it had been. This was different.

"He's right," Hermione sighed, "Remember, whoever is responsible for the pumpkin juice has shown no qualms about eliminating those who seem to be figuring things out."

"Well what about the other arms of the operation?" Harry persisted, "You can hardly continue your industrial service in your current state. We could at least recruit people to help cast and maintain the charms on your equipment!"

"Do you know how many statutes Granger is bending and outright breaking with her little consultation gig?"

"Why are you being so negative?"

"Someone has to be the realist around here."

"Never asked you to be here anyway."

"I was in on it before you were. You didn't even notice your own best friend wasting away until she'd already involved me."

"Bullshit. You involved yourself. You're probably the reason Hermione got ill in the first place!"

"Boys!" Hermione snapped before Harry finally figured out how close to the truth he was, "Malfoy's right. We need to focus. Right now we need to do two things more than anything else. Find who is responsible for the pumpkin juice, because if we don't solve that problem, then we will most likely be killed before the rest of the plan can be put into effect. And we need to finish laying the groundwork for all the rest."

"But Hermione," Harry blinked, "What is it that you're trying to accomplish? Save the world? But how? You never told me your master plan."

Draco couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. How delicious that Granger was still keeping Potter in the dark after all this.

So he told him, savoring Potter's gaping jaw, and stunned look of disbelief, even as his heart echoed Granger's weary panic.

T.B.C

-- looky looky. An update. Despite a continued paucity of reviews. I'm glad the rare few of you who bother to review seem to be enjoying this rambling overambitious mess of a fanfic. And to the rest of you who read and say nothing, I say to you "Pffffttttttt." How am I supposed to know what direction you want this to go if you do not say? (Not that I will necessarily listen, but you never know.) Just don't expect me to have HG and DM fall madly in puppy-dog love, have hot lusty sex and start popping out babies in an effort to save the world. Or start acting all cutesey-poo and sensitive and caring just because they have some wackass magical bond the purpose of which I don't even know – so why did I write it? Because it came to me in a dream. So why not? At least you don't see me writing about the creepy-ass shit I've been dreaming about recently. And remember, If you don't feel like writing a review for the whole world to see (who checks story reviews anyway?), you can email me at curdled (dot) milk (at) gmail (dot) com. I usually reply. With nonsense.


	14. that someday

Harry Potter had never taken well to following orders. Age had not yet mellowed that rebel streak. And even though Hermione was ostensibly in command, Harry had liked that Malfoy felt entitled to boss him around even less. Thus, as he left Hermione's flat that night, Harry had no intention of keeping the conspiracy to himself. Help was needed, and help is what he would get.

His first stop, therefore, a few days later, was Neville's thriving greenhouse business. Harry often relied on Neville for key potions ingredients for his apothecary, so he knew it would not look suspicious to any theoretical watchers for him to pay his old friend a visit. Neville was only too happy to see Harry and eagerly showed him his latest hydroponically grown hybrid, mermandrake root. "Good for healing potions, reduces congestion, and effective for drowning victims and water-breathing tonics."

"That's great, Neville." Harry feigned enthusiasm for the writhing water plants, and ordered two-dozen for his shop. "I actually wanted to ask your expertise in regards the magical properties of certain plants?"

"Oh? Which ones?"

" Let's step into your office." Harry ushered Neville into the back room, and cast several strong privacy charms, much to Neville's dismay. "I recently . . . acquired. . . an extract that appears to have magical effects on those who ingest it. But this extract tests negative for any spells cast upon it, and the plants from which it comes do not appear to have magical origins. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"What sort of effects?" Neville's brow creased as he took in the seriousness of Harry's demeanor.

"I'd really rather not say."

"Harry. . ."

"Trust me on this, Neville. If I tell you, you're going to have to take an unbreakable oath of silence, and I don't want to force you to do that."

"Harry. What's going on? You know the war has been over for fourteen years. Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh I know that." Harry spat, "This wasn't my idea. This has nothing to do with the war. In fact, I don't know what all it's about, only that it's deadly serious."

Neville looked away, paced to his desk, and slumped to his chair. He had a wife, a business, a good life. Now Harry was here, asking him . . . god only knew what, but it couldn't be good. Harry had a spark in his eyes, a spark Neville hadn't seen since Harry's wedding day. Harry was excited. He'd always claimed to want a quiet, simple life with no fame, or life-threatening danger. But here he was, with implications of vague threats, up to his eyeballs in gods only knew what sort of conspiracy. Was that what Neville wanted too? A dash of fire in his comfortable middle-class life? He still bore the scars from Hogwarts. Both mental and physical. They all did. An entire generation scarred and twisted.

After a long silence, in which Harry pretended to inspect Neville's herbology journals, Neville sighed.

"I'll take the bloody oath."

What else could he say? No matter how he tried to forget, he still remembered the sense of purpose, of being a part of something, of being somehow set apart from the general public, of being special. It was like a drug, so addictive that he couldn't escape its thrall, despite the equally strong memories of what it was like to quake with fear, to never know if you were going to live long enough to see the morning, much less lose your virginity, graduate, grow old.

---

Harry's next stop was Luna Lovegood.

Age had not appreciably grounded the blonde woman, although her hair had gained a few prematurely grey streaks since the days of their youth. "Hi Harry," She greeted from across her expansive desk. A desk littered with notes and pages torn from obscure journals, as well as a random assortment of blurry photos. Yes, the newest editor of the Quibbler had taken to her career with a vengeance, publishing articles that were, if possible, even more outlandish and controversial than those her father had put forth in his day. "Are you feeling alright? Have you picked up a quagblartbug infection?"

"I wouldn't know." Harry demurred, idly shifting Luna's notes and papers around, as he tried to decide how to broach his concerns with her.

"Mmhmm. . ." Luna sat back and watched Harry twitch, "It's been a long time Harry. But I knew you were coming. The wrandywracks have been sighted in Dover, after all."

"What does that. . . Oh Never mind. I'm sorry not to have kept in touch better over the years"

Luna cocked her head to the side, "Oh that's alright Harry. No one else does either." Somehow she didn't seem bothered by this, and in that moment she reminded Harry of Hermione, alone in her idiosyncratic isolation.

"The thing is. . ." Harry started, "Well, umm. The thing is, you know more about unusual species and infections than anyone else I know." He could only hope that some percentage of her quirky ideas and beliefs had some bearing on reality. After all, she'd been right before.

"Why thank you, Harry." Luna beamed happily and adjusted her frog's leg earrings.

"So, I was wondering if you might know of any creature or, say, conspiracy that might intend ill towards the wizarding race? I mean, besides Dementors or Dark lords."

"In what way? Goblins don't exactly love us, nor do centaurs, giants or dragons, but it takes a lot to get any of them stirred up to actually start a war."

"What about some more subtle attack?"

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed brightly, "This is about the impending extinction of wizarding kind isn't it?"

"Wait. . . You know about that?" Harry shook his head in disbelief.

"Of course I do! Luna reached behind her, pulled open one of her overflowing filing cabinets and grabbed a yellowing back issue of the Quibbler, "I've been writing articles about it for years. But I just can't seem to get anyone to listen. Did you see my editorial in June?"

"I should have known." Harry muttered under his breath, "I bet Hermione doesn't read the Quibbler.

"Luna, you don't drink pumpkin juice, do you?"

"Oh yes! Every day. It's good for your skin, and helps to ward off pore mites, you know." Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"But that's not possible."

"What's not? I've yet to find a pore mite on me since before I was too young to drink pumpkin juice."

And so, Harry explained. When he was done, Luna blinked at him, "You mean, all these years, no one actually saw my articles?"

"Why did you think no one ever asked you about them?"

"I just assumed. . ." She trailed off, sadly.

"That no one took you seriously because it's the Quibbler. . ." Harry finished, "Oh, Luna. I'm so sorry. But it might be for the best, Hermione thinks that people who try to out the population crisis have been targeted and killed. If the conspirators thought that you could get the word out, you'd have been attacked."

"But if pumpkin juice does all you say, then why can I remember?"

"I don't know, Luna, I just don't know."

They sat there awhile together in silence as Luna absentmindedly fiddled with the papers on her desk.

"I know!" She burst out finally, "Maybe it's like with Thestrals?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well they're invisible."

"But we know they exist."

"That's not the point, Harry. It's not a spell that makes them invisible. It's something inherent in them that makes it so you can't see until something changes in your memories. I believe my father once told me it was something in their skin, but I'd have to look it up to be sure."

"Oh, whereas pumpkin juice affects our memories so that we cannot 'see' the truth."

"Right, either way, there is a direct link between perception and an extrinsic factor."

"Hmm. . . that could be a lead." Harry agreed, "And if we could find the trigger that altered your perception despite the pumpkin juice then we might be one step closer to figuring out who could have done this. Luna, you're brilliant!"

When Harry finally took his leave, Luna sat down to brainstorm, smiling serenely at the compliments Harry had given her. It had been far too long since someone took her seriously, and she was astonished to find how much she missed it. She was just worried that Hermione might not be too pleased that Harry had recruited her. Luna was pretty certain that the other woman had always looked down on her in school. Luna might have been eccentric, but no one could ever say that she was stupid.

---

Much later, in the comfort of his own office, Harry nibbled on his quill and stared at the list of all the muggleborn witches and wizards his age or thereabouts, that he and Hermione and Malfoy had brainstormed at their last meeting. Words were not his thing, but he hadn't wanted to bother Hermione over such a little thing, when she already had so much on her plate. He'd figure it out eventually. Besides, working on this was a good way to avoid telling Hermione about his recruitment of Neville and Luna. Of course, what he was working on now was going to lead to involvement of a good many people in the more benign aspects of Hermione's multi-pronged scheme. At least, that was the hope. If they couldn't drum up interest, then they were going to have a much harder time of it than they could handle anyway.

Thus, a few days later, all across Britain, selected people opened their morning post to find a survey by mail, a true novelty in the wizarding world. And one with markedly strange questions at that.

_What aspect of muggle medicine, if any, is more effective than the equivalent magical treatment?_

_If your muggle family were in need, what potion or elixir would you most wish for them to be able to receive?_

_Do you know what a computer is? Why do you think the wizarding world has no equivalent? Would you find it useful?_

_Do you know what a mobile phone is? Why do you think the wizarding world has no equivalent? Would you find it useful?_

_Why not use a fountain pen?_

The questions went on in some length like that. Muggle goods that might be integratable into magical life. Magical goods that might be possible to sell to muggles, without tipping the consumer off to their true provenance or nature.

And at the end, the promise that all respondents would be automatically entered into a raffle for fabulous prizes and a dream vacation get-away to the south pacific.

Across the nation, curious folk sharpened their quills and started writing.

Hermione would be thrilled by the number of replies, and even more so by the diversity of their answers. It was time for her to turn to more practical commodities than industrial waste management. At least, until she could find a way to continue that endeavor without exhausting her depleted magical reserves.

---

"Granger, we have a problem."

"Oh joy. Something new and different."

"No, really."

"What is it then?"

"My father." He hadn't wanted to worry her while she was still weak, but now that she was at least able to get out of the flat, albeit by muggle means, he wanted her to be prepared for the eventuality of a new confrontation.

"What, how?" She wasn't fool enough to insult the sensitive Malfoy by asking him if he'd failed to cover his tracks adequately.

"Even after years in Azkaban, he has to have his fingers in every pie." Draco scowled, irritated by his father's inability to keep his nose out of his business, or perhaps by the way Granger's pulse had picked up at the mere mention of Lucius. "He's got contacts in the ministry, and spies in our company. And . . . I was less than discrete in borrowing some books. . ."

"Shit." Hermione wanted to yell at Malfoy and demand how he could have been so careless, but not only did she not have the energy, she knew it was inevitable that once one person knew about her schemes, more would follow. Harry was only the first. Malfoy had been none too pleased about that addition to their inner circle. If she had slipped up in letting him in, then how could she begrudge her co-conspirator his indiscretions? "What does he know?"

"I haven't told the meddling old bastard a thing, if that's what you're asking." Draco sneered.

"Malfoy," Hermione began placatingly.

"Yeah, whatever. He knows I'm on about something muggle-related. He's found out a hell of a lot more about my dealings at the ministry than I would like. Apparently the office gossip network there is a lot more indiscreet than I could wish. Secretaries can't fucking keep their mouth shut when I see their bosses, and they know far more than they should about what I've been lobbying for – Granger, This is serious. How is it going to look to the world to know that I've been sullying my hands with this shit? The Malfoy name has a long and glorious pureblood lineage. . . .It's not going to look good." Draco ran frustrated hands through his perfectly coifed hair. "What the hell were you thinking? You should be the one meddling in ministry affairs. At least from you it's believable."

"Malfoy – Draco." Hermione tried again, "You've been doing wonderfully. Really. Look at what you've actually managed to accomplish in a few months. Do you think I could have done that? Do you think any one of them would have actually taken me seriously? Remember, the founder of S.P.E.W., the know-it-all that everyone our age despised in school? And what have I done since then? I disappeared for 14 years, and now I run a startup that perpetually teeters on the edge of insolvency, not to mention flirting with the definitions of legality. Honestly. Whereas, you and I both know full well, all the war did was topple a few psychotic extremists. What there is of our populace still respects purebloods over all else, and many still hold the Malfoy name in high regard despite your unfortunate role in the war. (And even less fortunate personalities.)" She couldn't resist throwing in as an aside, "Even if for no other reason than because your family still controls a sizeable percentage of the national GDP. What's good for the Malfoy business is good for Britain. So as long as all your actions can be explained in terms of promoting Malfoy Industries, though not in such a way as to preclude competition, then they'll continue to bite."

"Right," Draco drawled sarcastically, "That's why I've been using blackmail and legilimancy to work my will, because they all respect me so much."

"Having an edge never hurt." Hermione shrugged.

"Uh-Huh." And people had always thought Granger a goody-two-shoes. Hell, he himself had been convinced of it as well. Shows just how little anyone really knew her. In truth, she could be hellishly uptight about many things, but playing by the rules was not one of them. If she hadn't been born a mudblood with such a minimal shred of self-preservation instinct, she could almost have been a Slytherin. Draco shook his head and forced himself back to the topic at hand, "Getting back to my father. Granger, I think he also knows about you. My secretary told me he'd been poking around in shipping and receiving and accounting. I know he was concerned as to where my sudden windfall of raw materials was coming from. He may have figured it out. ."

"We knew that was a risk we'd have to take. . ."

"Yeah, but what are we going to do when he decides to take matters in his own hands? Father has never been one for watching from the sidelines."

"What can he do? Announce to the world that you're, what exactly? Stealing from me? We can draft some sort of contract."

"It's worse than that. When I was trying to find a way to heal you that didn't involve blood magic or," Draco shuddered theatrically, "Sex magic, I took a bunch of dark magic texts from our library." Hermione knew that much. The books were still sitting on her desk, where she had taken to perusing them herself. "He thinks I'm working some kind of dark magic mojo."

"Well, given his proclivities, I shouldn't be surprised."

"Yeah well, father is now obsessed with keeping the family name clean. I'm afraid he's going to think I'm as much of an idiot as he was at my age. . ."

"What, you've got me ensorcelled and you're conspiring to over throw the government and exterminate all muggles?" Hermione laughed, "Because that went so well the last two times around."

Draco frowned, annoyed by her levity. He knew he'd been a right prat as a child, spoiled, whiny and brainwashed. A year in servitude to the dark lord followed by a stint in Azkaban had purged that shit right out of him. He would never be a nice man, or a warm man. That was not the Malfoy way, but neither was he about to repeat his father's mistakes. It galled him to think that his father might still think of him as the spiteful, angry child he once had been.

"I'm serious, Granger."

Hermione took in the look in his eyes and quenched her laughter. He really did mean it. "So what do you think he's going to do?"

"Well, he's tried confronting me. Before he had evidence. I denied everything. But now that he has some facts, he might try again. . . But what I'm really worried about is that Father has always been big on cleaning up my messes. If he thinks I've done something to you, he might try and eliminate you before . . ."

"And he wouldn't consider that I might have done something to you?" Hermione sniffed, plainly peeved at the way people were always underestimating her.

"Possibly, but you're a cipher. I mean come on, Granger, even your friends haven't got a clue as to your abilities. Has Potter even asked why your magic is so low? Or why you kept the most insanely suicidal quantity of blue champagne around as this country has ever seen? Or why you used dark magic on me? You know he's been wondering about it for ages. Does he know how you're powering how many 'muggle' waste management systems around the world now? Or about the warehouse full of bottomless barrels? You've only barely let him touch the surface of what we're doing. And you call him your best friend. Bloody hell, I know more about you than he does."

Hermione sniffed back a tear at that last statement. It was, after all, probably true. How had that happened? How had she shut out her friends so completely, yet let this man in so close? She'd told herself that she'd been protecting them, but even now after Harry had forcefully involved himself in her little conspiracy, she was keeping him at arm's length, and she couldn't even explain to herself why.

"What's done is done." She murmured at last, "we'll just have to figure out where to go from here." Involuntarily she rubbed her chest, as she watched Malfoy breathing in time with her. Who knew, maybe Malfoy senior would prove useful in the end.

"In the meantime, are you ever going to tell Potter the truth? And what about my father?" Draco was growing impatient, his fingers restlessly tapping to the beat of Granger's heart.

"Tomorrow, I'm supposed to go out with the boys," Hermione sighed, "I suppose it's only appropriate that since Harry clued in after one of our beer nights, that I tell him everything after another." And a few drinks would give her a needed dose of liquid courage. "As for Lucius," She enunciated the name with great distaste, "we have several options. We could obliviate him, or we could lie like hell until he finds out the truth. But have you considered using him?"

"Are you an idiot? Are you weak in the head as well as everywhere else? Just because he spent years in prison, it doesn't mean father likes you. Hell, most days I still think Mudbloods are a plague upon our earth." Draco didn't give a damn if he upset Granger, "Polluting, filthy, noisy, and violent. Only difference is that I can see that we're not much better, there's just fewer of us, and individually we have far more power than those sheep. But I still don't like them. To father, you're still uppity scum. Worse than the sin of being bourgeoisie or nouveau riche. Do you think he'd help us with deregulation? Help to promote this insane cultural shift that you propose? No. Of course not. Now all he can do is throw his conservatism into protecting the status quo, protecting our family name from further shame and our assets from the vultures that tried to strip it from us."

"You forget three things, Malfoy." Hermione chided, her jaw set as she forced herself to overlook his insults.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"He's a pragmatist and a survivor, and he's not stupid." Slimy, arrogant, racist, and deeply unpleasant, but still. "You hate me too, and I don't exactly adore being forced to work with you, but look at us. We know what's at stake. What good is your pedigree, your estates and your wealth, if we're all extinct in a generation or four? I don't expect him to do things my way. I wouldn't trust him further than I can throw him no matter how many imperios I cast or unbreakable oaths I bound him to. But still. Never rule out a potential asset unless you absolutely have to." Besides, it wasn't like she thought Malfoy Junior was following her plan exactly either. She'd just have to be ready to keep them from imposing their agenda on top of all the other schemes they were working to ensure their own survival.

In the meantime, they'd just have to be ready to deal with Lucius' suspicions when the time came.

ToBeContinued...

---

Oooh.. A chapter that finally got more than two reviews! Yay! So yeah, sorry for erratic updates, the muse is not so much with me these days. I am getting old, lazy, and inertia-ful. That and stressed out from work and housemate conflicts, etc etc etc. you know how it is I'm sure. Yeah, I need to get out more, much more than I need to write this. Will either happen? Who the hell knows? Probably not. One thing is certain, tomorrow I will be slicing up bits o' people's brains. Happy new year to me. Happy new year to you.


	15. I might beat you

Hermione dithered. She was due to meet Ron and Harry at their favorite pub in an hour, and she knew she needed to leave now if she wanted to get there in time. Driving just took so much longer than apparition. And yet, she continued to pace her apartment. She knew she needed to tell Harry everything she'd done, everything she had planned, including the fact that she'd imperio'd Malfoy. Harry might despise the blond snake, but it was against everything Dumbledore had indoctrinated him with to actually use an Unforgivable on anyone. She wanted to do it tonight, get it out in the light before Harry became any more embroiled in her plans. But how to broach the matter? And what of Ron? Should she strive to keep him out of it? Did she have the patience to put up with his combative nature and his wife? She did love them both, truly, but there was no getting around the personality issues they presented.

Little did Hermione know that Harry was doing some dithering of his own on the matter. He knew Hermione was not going to react well to his recruitment of Neville and Luna, but he had to tell her what he had learned from them, and she was not one to let information slip in without demanding the source. Ron weighed heavily on Harry's mind too. He was Harry's best mate. Always had been. . . and yet. . . the years had changed him, perhaps the most of any of them. Maybe it would be for the best to let him live in ignorance? He just didn't know what to do.

In the end, however, their fretting was moot. Ron beat the both of them to the pub, and had had the bad grace to bring Lavender. Within minutes of Harry's arrival, Ginny too stalked in the door, intent on policing her man and putting an end to any funny business that might be going on between him and Hermione. So much for the golden trio celebrating their enduring friendship in peace.

Ginny's suspicions were not in any way relieved by the nearly palpable tension at the table. Tension that Ron and Lavender seemed completely oblivious to. Didn't they notice Hermione's shifty eyes, the looks she and Harry shot each other? The awkward silences, as if they were catching themselves about to refer to an encounter or shared experience that no one else at the table was in on? Old friends could not act so stilted around each other unless they were hiding something. And so they were, just not the secrets Ginny was expecting.

Ron merely noticed that Hermione didn't seem to be touching her pint, much less the food that Harry had been so insistent that she order. If he were honest with himself, he'd also admit that he hadn't noticed her sickly pallor or her oddly irregular breathing, until Lavender had commented upon it.

It didn't take long for Hermione to realize that she'd had quite enough of people for one evening. It wasn't fair for Ginny to glare accusingly at her like she was a criminal or a traitor, and she didn't see why she should have to put up with Lavender's well-intentioned, but poorly phrased questions about her ill appearance, her clothing, and what she needed to change about herself if she ever wanted to get a man of her own. As if she had time for a man in her life anyway. It was thus almost a relief, when a lull in the conversation gave her the opportunity to say her goodbyes and head for the door. Home was a long drive away.

The relief was short-lived when her walk to the muggle part of town was interrupted by none other than Lucius Malfoy. Like her evening hadn't gone poorly enough already. Malfoys always did have a horrible sense of timing. Guess she knew where Draco had inherited that from.

"Ms. Granger." Years in prison had not mellowed that supercilious drawl.

"Mr. Malfoy." Hermione inclined her head warily and let her wand slip circumspectly into her palm. Much good as that would do her with her magic so depleted, if he decided to attack.

"What a surprise, to run into you tonight. I was just thinking about you."

"Indeed." Hermione replied, her tone frigid, "To what do I owe the honor?"

"It has recently come to my attention that you have . . . dealings. . . with my son."

"Your son?" Hermione temporized, trying to determine what Malfoy could hope to accomplish by confronting her here, now, in such a public, albeit rather deserted, place. "Perhaps some subsidiary of Malfoy Industries is among my client list? But I highly doubt your son would concern himself with the nitty-gritty details of the services I provide. Do you even know what it is I do?"

"Don't play games with me, little girl." Lucius snarled coldly, "You may fool your idiot friends, and as many other gullible low-lives as you please, but you forget who you are dealing with."

"Hardly," Hermione snorted, "Like I'd forget the man whose sister in-law and best friends left a road map of scars across my body while he watched. A lifetime could not erase those memories. I think you've wasted enough of my time." She backed up warily, hoping that someone would come down the deserted street and give her a chance to make good her escape. Life was so much more difficult when you didn't dare use magic.

Sadly, tonight was not Hermione's lucky night. Never had she reason to so immediately curse the depopulation of the wizarding world. The street continued to be empty for the moment, and Lucius took the opportunity to make his move. With the supple grace of a striking snake, he lunged forward to grab Hermione's arm. It was only a second, just long enough for the briefest of skin on skin contact, before Hermione recoiled, knocking Lucius's hand away, and backing into a defensive posture. But that was all that was needed, and Lucius' eyes widened as his suspicions were confirmed.

"If only the world could feel what I just did." He chuckled, "You're steeped in dark magics. Oh yes, I can feel them in you."

"You would." Hermione sneered, taking another step back. Everyone knew that the greater your exposure to forbidden magic, the greater your sensitivity to their proximity in future. "Have you forgotten how many curses I took during the war? How many of those were cast by you?" As if he couldn't tell the difference between curse residue and the taint of more recent activity.

"Ah-ah, Ms. Granger, where do you think you're going?" Lucius gestured expansively to the empty street, even as he raised his wand. "We have much to discuss. You will tell me what my son is up to."

"Right, what are you going to do? Hex me? You're a convicted felon, do you want to go back to Azkaban?"

"Hardly, Ms. Granger, but there are ways to avoid such a fate, as I'm sure you know, now why don't you be a good girl and come with me?"

"Or not." Hermione clenched her fist around her wand, took a deep breathe, and spun on her heels praying to any gods that might listen that the magic she was leeching from Draco would sustain her through one long-distance apparition.

"Damnit!" Lucius cursed as Granger vanished. He hated getting old, and cautious, and too bloody slow with his wand. That had not gone as planned. Oh well. At least he'd had partial confirmation that the Granger girl was up to her ears in something dark. Draco was going to have some explaining to do. Tonight. Now.

With that, the street was suddenly empty, with no one left but the wind to carry on a conversation.

---

"Fucking hell!" Draco had been enjoying an evening alone in his flat; a glass of wine, a novel he'd been intending to read for over a year, and the stack of reports he needed to go through shoved under an end table to be ignored for one night, just one night, when he was struck by a sudden wave of nausea. He barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach violently hurled up its contents, leaving him doubled over in pain. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't do anything more than collapse to the floor until the feeling passed. What the hell had Granger done? Not for a single second did Draco think the episode could have been anything else. He wasn't one for food poisoning, or 24-hour viruses, though in theory deliberate poisoning or hexing shouldn't be excluded. No, by now he knew enough to recognize the signs that he was experiencing Granger's autonomics. (Though, he wished he hadn't just learned that extended to vomiting as well.) Seriously, he was tempted to terminate the spell that linked them and let her see what happened when she wasn't propped up by leeching off of his power. Goddamned mudblood! He was going to give that bitch a piece of his mind next time they met, that was for sure.

Another wave of nausea hit, just then, sending Draco reeling once more. He had nothing left in his stomach to bring up, but that didn't stop his guts from trying. His pulse was fluttering so fast his chest was starting to hurt, and he felt as through he could not draw a deep breath to save his life. He was fucking pissed off, but not so much that he didn't start to worry that maybe something was seriously wrong. There had to be a way to fight this thrice-damned bond and force his body under his own control once more. Draco clenched his eyes tightly closed, curled his hands into fists so tight his manicured nails dug deep into his palms, and concentrated.

_Breathe_

_Breathe_

_Breathe_

Furiously he willed his heart rate to slow, even as he consciously counted each breath in and out again, until his head was clear enough to think.

Granger was plainly in bad shape. Stupid bint. Tempting as it was to let her suffer the effects of whatever stupidity she had wreaked upon herself, he really, really didn't want to feel the echo in himself. She would have to be seen to. But why in the nine circles of hell did it have to be him?

Painfully Draco pushed to his feet and accio'd a sheet of parchment and a pen from the desk. A snap of his fingers woke his owl, who irritably held out a leg for the missive.

"Find Potter." Draco snarled, "And be quick about it." So much for his relaxing evening at home. Since Granger lacked the strength to do magic, Draco had rebuilt the wards around her apartment, though, in a fit of spite after Potter had insulted him at their last meeting, he'd set them to let only Granger and himself in without having to be taken down, so that Potter (or anyone else for that matter), couldn't get in without his assistance (or hours spent ward-breaking). Guess that plan was coming back to bite him in the ass.

Draco heaved a sigh and shut the window after his departing bird, mentally preparing himself to deal with Granger and her green-eyed sidekick. He fought off another wave of nausea and was just about ready to apparate when he heard the knock on the door.

"Fuck all! What now?" He spat

What now, was of course, his father. A most unwelcome sight at that moment, if ever there was one. And judging by the unnaturally calm stillness of his face, Draco could guess just what had befallen Granger. Hadn't he warned her to be careful? So much for that. Briefly, Draco debated just apparating away, but he hadn't updated the wards at his apartment and he had no doubt that his father would just break through them in no time at all. Gods only knew what sort of evidence Draco might have inadvertently left lying around of his activities. Plainly there was no help for it. Drastic action was called for. And he knew just the thing. If only Potter would get his sorry ass to Granger's flat in time.

Lucius glowered as his son opened the door. "You lied to me."

Draco just snorted and held his ground.

"Ungrateful whelp. What have you done?" And suddenly Lucius' wand was in his hand, aimed straight at his son's heart.

"Give it a rest, Father." Draco sneered, letting loose with some of his long-held filial resentments, "There you go, jumping to conclusions again. Like you did when you joined the godsdamned death eaters, or mocked Dumbledore for a senile old fool, or underestimated Potter, or like when you almost got us all killed and destroyed our family's reputation? Stop acting holier than thou. Like you haven't schemed and planned, like you've never steeped your tainted soul in the dark arts. Honestly! Are you senile as well as mad?"

"You!" Lucius was thunderously angry, and his temper was about to be let loose. His son had snubbed him plenty in the years since he'd been in prison, and tension ran high between them at the best of times, but this was going too far. He'd been shamed and humiliated and punished enough for his mistakes. He didn't need his son rubbing acid in his wounds. His fingers twitched restlessly, just aching to show his son, this sneering popinjay, just who he was dealing with.

Which was just the distraction Draco needed to reach out with the reflexes of youth, and apparate them both into Granger's flat. Or rather, apparate himself into the freedom of the flat, and his father into the apparition trap of Granger's that he, himself, had once fallen victim to. Damned good thing it was he had recast her wards as well as she ever had, and that the spell was intricate enough to recognize an authorized visitor, even in the presence of the intruder. 'Course, letting Potter in, without dropping the wards on his father was going to be a bit more complex, especially as his proximity with Granger was starting to play hell with his pulse again.

Lucius watched impotently from the snare his son had drawn into, as Draco staggered back, gasping for breath, a thin sheen of sweat glossing his forehead. What in hell was going on here? And where was here for that matter? Like his son, months before in this very same position, Lucius found himself unable to move, unable to speak, his field of view limited to that which was directly in front of him. It was infuriating! Such a shabby room, ill-kempt and dingy, at least the little he could see of it. Not a fit place for a Malfoy! More like the sort of sty a Mudblood would inhabit. Aha!

Lucius could not see, as his son could, the crumpled form of Hermione Granger, lying on the floor near his feet, a small puddle of vomit in front of her.

_At least she's got clothes on this time around._ Draco mused when the worst of his episode had passed.

"Damnit, Granger!" Gingerly he knelt by her side, "We haven't got time for this nonsense." But she was unconscious, her features pale and diaphoretic. It was plain that her body couldn't cope with the magic stress she had forced upon it. "Goddamnit!" Draco snarled, as he felt his body try to synch up with hers again, "Oh no you don't!" He didn't dare cast an ennervate on her, but that was fine by him, a slap or two would do just as well. He took a cold satisfaction in the act, savoring the impact on her delicate cheeks, and the bloom of color that followed.

This was bad. Granger was an invalid, Potter was a useless arse, and his father was standing right behind him, no doubt growing angrier with each second that passed. No doubt he would soon find a way to break free of the wards if Draco didn't act quickly. At least Granger seemed to be coming to, finally.

"Ugh. . ." Hermione opened her eyes, blinked and, immediately shut them again. She must be hallucinating. Over all, she'd rather be unconscious than see what she thought she saw. How did Malfoy Sr. get here? Did he follow her? Or wait, did Malfoy Jr. Bring him? Could he have found a loophole in his oath? She felt herself starting to panic, and managed to take a few hyperventilating breaths before Draco slapped her again.

"Snap out of it! Granger, we've got problems. Get the hell up!"

But it was no use. He had to drag her limp body over to the couch and dump her on it, almost tripping on the damned cat on his way over.

Draco had barely managed to get a half-conscious Granger propped up, and started to cast a series of complex binding and warding spells at his silently fuming parent when the banging on the door started.

At least Potter was prompt.

Though, as Draco peered briefly through the peephole, he was shocked and furious to see that behind a defeated-looking Potter stood a scowling red-head formerly known as the Weaslette. Could this night get any more fucked?

With a frustrated sigh, Draco turned his back on the unwelcome sight and sank down the door, thumping his head back as if in a silent plea to heaven as he sat heavily on the floor.

"This is all your fault, you know." He glared accusingly at Hermione, who had rallied enough to sit slumped on the couch, bowed head in hands.

What else could she do but nod sadly in agreement?

There was about to be a most unpleasant confrontation, of that, the two co-conspirators had no doubt.

T.B.C.

--- yeah, so, not the best chapter, I will admit. But at least I got it written, despite the shitty hours I've been working and the stress of dealing with fellowship applications, my continuing to implode housemate situation, and, oh yeah, the increasingly frequent migraines. Can you tell the last half of this chapter was written while zonked out on migraine meds? My head feel like it's floating in some alternate (but equally unfun) plane of reality. Any way, I promise next chapter – confrontation! Communication! Secrets aired! Lies exchanged! Lucius! Draco! Hermione! Harry! Ginny! The Cat! Yippee. It was supposed to be this chapter, but like I said, I couldn't quite get there, and figured I should at least try to post something. Sorry! And a big thank you to all those who reviewed since my last post. You guys rock! I dunno when I'm going to get the next chapter out, the next few months threaten to be full of snow, stress, jetlag, and a bunch of 80 hour work weeks. Yech! But I will try. It's floating around in my head (wheresoever that is right now), I swear. (right along with the original fiction that can't seem to get beyond the theory stage, much like my research) –cm--


	16. A hierarchy

"Stupefy her." Hermione whispered weakly, when Draco admitted to her what the problem outside the door actually was.

"Are you insane? The second I open this door and Potface sees my Father, he's going to hex me, and you know it. I won't even have a chance to say anything. Not that I could. You made damned sure of that."

"I'm not going to apologize." Hermione looked away, only to be confronted with the frigid glare of the still-trussed senior Malfoy, who looked like he was about ready to murder someone, anyone, if only he had his wand free. "Can he hear us?"

"You designed the wards, what do you think?"

"Fuck. Have you at least got his wand?"

"Accio Lucius' wand!" Oops. Well, no harm done.

"How long can the wards on him hold?" Hermione was slumping further into the couch, barely able to hold her head up, much less concentrate through the nausea and exhaustion.

"Five minutes? Max."

"Ok," Hermione sighed, and winced as the pounding on the door began again "Just a sec!"

"Stun him, disillusion him, open the door, let Harry and Gin in, immobilize her. God, what a mess."

"Yeah, this is your fucking mess." Draco snarled, "Why the hell do I have to do all the goddamned work? And after we freeze the Weaselette, what then? You want to let her and her big mouth in on our little cabal? We'll be dead in a month."

"We can argue later! Malfoy, just do it please!"

Bloody Hell. Well, he didn't have a better plan. And if the shit was going to explode, at least it was all going to go down at once. So, he did as she asked, stupefying his father, disillusioning him, and taking down the last of Granger's wards.

"It's open." Hermione called out as loudly as she could, in her weakened state, which wasn't very. Fortunately, Harry hadn't needed to hear, before taking the initiative and opening the door the moment he felt the wards drop.

"What took you so long?" Ginny demanded, as she heedlessly entered the apartment after Harry. "Don't you know it's rude to keep people waiting?" Her voice cut off abruptly as she caught sight of Malfoy, pointing his wand directly at her.

"Incarcerous."

"What the fuck is going on here? Harry!" Ginny's eyes were wild as she fought the spell.

"Malfoy!"

"Why'd you bring the wife Potter? We've got problems enough as it is!"

"Oh my god, Hermione!"

"Harry James Potter! Don't you dare ignore me!"

"Sorry Potter." Draco sneered at Ginny, "He's got more important things to do than untie you." Another idle flick of his wand and a muttered silencio followed by a quick stupefy, and the room was blissfully quiet once more.

"Hermione! What happened to you?" She'd only been gone from the pub for a short while.

"My father." Draco summarized succinctly, fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to vomit, while over on the couch, Hermione lost her own battle with nausea.

A wave of Harry's wand and the pools of vomit were quickly cleaned. "What can we do? Malfoy, is that spell of yours actually doing anything?"

"It's all that's keeping her alive, Potter." Draco scowled. "Potter! Pay attention to me. We've got bigger problems!"

"Oh, yeah? Hermione could die!"

"We all could fucking die if you don't pay attention right now!"

"What? What the hell is so important?"

"This!" Impatiently, Draco removed the disillusionment charm on his father. Unsurprisingly, the old man was beginning to come to.

"Mother of Merlin! Malfoy, what's he doing here?"

"He jumped her, then came to my flat. I didn't have time to hide the evidence or rebuild my wards."

"So you brought him here?" Harry wasn't buying it.

"There wasn't much of a choice. One way or another he was going to find out!"

"So you can't keep a secret?"

"I gave nothing away!" Draco snarled. After all, he swore an unbreakable. He literally couldn't tell. "You're the one who brought his bloody nosy wife along!"

"Boys!" it was all Hermione could do to speak at all. "I need. . . I need you to get something for me."

"Sure, 'Mione. Anything you need" Harry was instantly back at her side, while Draco snorted and stood aloof, dividing his attention between their two prisoners.

"In the kitchen. Under the sink. The bottle of Drain cleaner. And a spoon."

Draco had a sinking feeling as Harry, like the obedient little lapdog he was, trotted back with the requested items.

"Granger. . . ."

"Oh fuck!" Potter had finally got the cap off. "No, 'Mione! You said you weren't going to use this anymore." Sparing a glare for Malfoy, "I thought you said you'd thrown the rest of this shit out. There's enough in here to kill a small army."

"I thought I had." Trust Granger to keep her poisons hidden away within muggle products. "But do you have any better ideas? Just look at her!" He hated the idea. Granger was weak enough as it was. What the hell would a dose of Blue Champagne do to her psyche in this state?

"I can handle it." Hermione's whispered assertion in between bouts of retching didn't really sound all that convincing. But given the situation, and the fact that there was a furious Lucius Malfoy waking up on the floor a few feet away, and a soon to be furious Ginny Potter still unconscious by the door, Harry had to agree that they needed all the functional wands they could get. They simply didn't have time to go researching other ways of restoring Hermione's vitality ASAP. So, it was with great reluctance, that Harry helped her to pour a single spoonful of the brightly colored potion and raise it to her lips.

Draco braced himself, unsure of how the effects might carry through their troublesome link. And, from his position on the floor, the elder Malfoy watched with great consternation and not a little confusion as Hermione Granger gulped down the potent brew.

Draco could almost swear he could feel the liquid slide down his own throat as Granger swallowed convulsively. He could remember with great clarity and vividness what he'd felt when he'd tried to use Legilimancy on Granger before; who knew how much worse the effects would be on her in her debilitated state?

Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly closed as the first waves of despair rolled through her. Self-loathing, worse than ever before. She hated her weakness, her reliance upon Malfoy of all people, the lies she told her friends, the way she treated people. Everything her life had boiled down to at this point. It would be so easy, so very easy to end it all. Her wand hand itched, burning to turn her wand on herself. Burn out the remnants of her magic in one glorious burst. She could feel Harry's hand rubbing circles on her shaking back, and she knew she didn't deserve such a friend as he. And after tonight—who knew if she'd have any friends left at all?

She was sinking lower and lower in a black haze of misery and despair when she heard Malfoy's angry voice, tight with strain.

"Snap out of it Granger! Stupid bitch. Who's going to get us out of this mess, if you give up? Who the fuck else is going to save the world? Potter? Don't make me laugh! You can kill yourself later if you must. But right now, we need you. You're the one with the bloody plan!" And he'd sworn that damned unbreakable to try and help her in any way he could. Which most definitely included keeping her alive. Though, given the palpitations and chest pain he was experiencing now through his unwanted link with her, the icy sense of dread and prickling of cold sweat on his limbs, it wasn't much of a life she was living. If he continued to have to suffer physically for her mistakes, he was going to start wishing her dead after all.

It was then that the magic of Blue Champagne kicked in. And Kick it did. Draco could feel it, almost a physical pulse of heat and strength, through his link with Granger. Almost as if, instead of his magic feeding hers, she was finally returning the loan. He felt stronger than he had in weeks. No wonder she used the stuff.

Hermione forced herself to open misery-fogged eyes, unclench her fists enough to notice that she'd driven her fingernails into her palms, so tightly had they been squeezed. She was aware that she was hyperventilating and deliberately she tried to slow her breathing, and take stock. Self-loathing? At around 110%, Exhaustion? Ditto. Despair? Maybe only 90% of maximum. Reasons to keep living? Ummm. . . . Friends? Doubtful. Family? Burned that bridge. Pleasure? Wasn't like she got any of that these days. Save the World? Yeah. That still needed doing. But she was increasingly unsure that such a thing was possible, or that she was even the woman for the job. Still, she wasn't one to give up. Even if she had to face down Lucius Malfoy and Ginevra Potter in the same evening. Alrighty then.

"I'm. . I'm ok." She managed at last. "Thanks." She mustered a weak, unconvincing smile for both Harry and Malfoy, and pushed herself out of her slump. She could at least pretend to have a little pride and dignity in front of her unwanted guests. "I guess. . . I guess we need to talk."

"Yeah." Harry nodded uncomfortably and glanced nervously at his stupefied wife.

"Alright Granger, where do you want to start?" Draco drawled, the ease in his voice covering the tension he felt.

"Take a guess." Deal with the outsiders first, then she could air their dirty laundry. It would not be good to fail in the presentation of a united front in front of the elder Malfoy.

"Right then." Draco nodded at Harry, who drew his wand and stood at the ready while Draco unbound some of the spells that bound his father. Enough that the man could stand and speak. But hopefully not perform wandless or non-verbal magic before one of the other two men in the room could respond.

"Son." Lucius glared icily at Draco, seemingly unfazed by the evening's events, though in truth his mind was whirling at the implications of what he had seen so far in this room.

"Father."

"I see you've been keeping secrets from me."

"Well, duh." Harry couldn't help but interject snidely.

"Potter! Shut it!" Draco snapped. "Stay out of it."

"And since when does the "savior of the wizarding world" acknowledge his betters?" Lucius sneered, enjoying Potter's discomfort.

"Mr. Malfoy." Hermione interrupted. "We are well aware that you have questions, that, quite frankly, your son cannot answer. You also have a very nasty little suspicious mind. Just because you devoted your misspent youth to a cabal whose sole intent was to cause harm and destruction doesn't mean your son is so crass is to follow in your footsteps. Especially not after the clusterfuck that was all of our teen-age years. I don't like you, I don't like your family, and quite frankly, I still can barely tolerate Draco most days. But that doesn't change the fact that I find it despicable that the first thing you think of, of your own flesh and blood, is that they might be involved in something dark, dangerous and illegal. You should be ashamed of yourself!" Plainly she was beginning to feel a little better.

"Miss Granger." Lucius sketched a little bow. "How nice of you to join the world of the living again. I can now admit I was mistaken. It is not my son who has been dabbling in the dark is it? You are the mastermind in this room. How ironic that the golden mudblood girl should attempt to usurp the tools of her betters."

"If only you knew." Harry snorted under his breath.

"My betters? Don't make me laugh. You all inbred fools are so blinded by your own prejudices you can't even see the truth. You can't even see the danger we all are in. And you wallow in petty feuds over blood status and the lines that shouldn't be crossed between the light and the dark. It is your lack of foresight, your lack of vision of any sort that is going to destroy the world. And none of you were doing a single godsdamned thing to stop it. Don't talk to me about who is better. Don't mock me as a hypocrite. Until you've stood in my place, you have no right."

"Feisty, isn't she?" Lucius forced himself to remain calm, addressing his remarks to his son rather than the infuriating young woman in front of him.

"So what is this big secret that has turned you into Miss. Granger's lackey?"

"That, sir. I cannot tell you." Draco replied stiffly.

"Cannot or will not?" Lucius taunted, "Playing games are we? I can play all night." With that, he lashed out with a wandless legilimancy directed this time not at Draco, but at Harry, the weakest occlumens in the room. But Harry had been practicing, ever since he realized the stakes Hermione was playing for, and he wasn't about to let his brain become a stomping ground for anyone else now that Voldemort was dead. With great effort Harry blocked his probe, so that all Lucius saw were brief glimpses of incomprehensible muggle machinery, and squash. Dozens of kinds of squash. Useless.

"Ah, ah. Mr. Malfoy." Hermione spoke again. "That's not how you build goodwill. And right now, you need goodwill. Because we have to decide what to do with you."

"I still vote to obliviate the bastard." Harry muttered

"Watch it Potter, that's my father you're talking about."

"Oh I know that, Malfoy. I am well aware of just who your father is."

"Boys!" Hermione could get awfully tired of breaking up their spats. "Focus! Harry, we can't obliviate him, he'd just end up getting suspicious all over again. And I'd rather not have to go through a night like this again anytime soon."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Granger. Don't even think about it." Draco growled, surreptitiously surveying the room to make sure there were no pencils or other wand-like objects within Granger's reach.

"Relax Malfoy." Hermione sighed, "I'm not going to imperio him." Even if she had the strength to do such a thing, right now she lacked the will.

"Hemione?" Harry questioned worriedly. Certain things were suddenly becoming clear. "Do you. . ."

Lucius sudden laughter seemed to shock the room.

"Oh the irony! Such nasty little secrets you've been keeping from your friends, Miss Granger. As for you." He glared at his stony-faced son, "I'm ashamed to call you my flesh and blood, being bested by a girl yet again."

"Watch your mouth Malfoy, or I won't hesitate to Curse you the same as I did your son." It was a bluff. Everyone in the room knew she hadn't the strength, even if she did dare perform another Unforgivable in front of her horrified best friend.

"Your pathetic spells couldn't hold me." Lucius taunted.

"Not for long, no." Hermione admitted, "But I only need 15 minutes of obedience."

"Malfoy?" Harry had given up staring wide-eyed at Hermione and turned now to Draco for an explanation. Draco just shrugged in silent frustration. "Hermione how could you?!"

"Harry," Hermione pleaded, "I didn't know who to trust. He was threatening to ruin all I had worked for. I had no one to turn to."

"And you didn't feel you could trust me?"

"We've been over this already. I didn't want to ruin your life. You already saved the world once you shouldn't have to carry the burden of doing it again."

"That doesn't make it okay! Besides, you were there every step of the way with me last time!"

"I know it's not okay! Don't you think I have to live with the fact everyday that I killed a little piece of my soul with that goddamned curse? Don't you think I feel it every second of every waking moment? You knew I'd been messing with the Dark. You knew I'd cast an unforgivable. Would it have been better to Crucio Malfoy? Or Avada him? I did what I had to do."

"Release him!"

"He's not imperio'd" Hermione protested to Draco's muffled snort.

"Then why won't he speak for himself?"

"That's the unbreakable I imperio'd him to make him swear! Why else do you think I trust him? I needed an ally, not a mindless drone!"

"Amusing as this trouble in Paradise is, do you think you children will stop bickering anytime soon? I have better things to do than listen to your dirty laundry."

"Don't be such a hypocrite." Draco finally spoke." You have nothing better to do and you know it. "You've been sniffing around my business for weeks, and tonight you finally got lucky. Here it is, here's the unspeakable evil you think I've been up to. You taught me legilimancy thinking that I was plotting something at the ministry. Turns out I am." That much at least the damned oath would let him say. "I asked you about Blue Champagne. And Lo! Tonight you've learned what that's all about. You were concerned about my use of dark magic—and. . . Goddamnit Granger! You get the point."

"Indeed." Lucius sneered. "I've learned that my son has grown up to be a flunky. But aside from a few vague platitudes about "saving the world" and "ends justifying the means," all I see is a room full of sniveling cowards. All too afraid to tell me the truth. And don't think I can't tell that the taint of Dark magic on you both is far more recent than you claim." Or that he hadn't noticed the oddly symmetric irregular breathing patterns of his son and Granger.

"What would be the point?" Harry cut in, "Even if we wanted to tell you. Even if we trusted you. You still wouldn't hear."

"How do you know?" Lucius was getting tired of the evasions.

"Fine." Hermione glanced nervously towards where the fifth member of the party, the unconscious Ginny, showed restless signs of beginning to wake up. "Swear the same unbreakable oath that I made Draco swear, and then I'll tell you."

"Now why would I do a stupid thing like that?"

"Because father, you know just as well as we do, that you're not going to leave us alone until you've made yourself feel like you still have relevance in the modern world. And no matter how much trouble you make for us, no matter how you interfere with our plans, you'll never ever know what we're up to until you agree to our terms."

"That, and Hermione could still imperius you." Harry felt obliged to stick up for his friend despite the deep loathing he felt for her actions.

"Are you threatening me?" He couldn't quite keep the disbelief from his voice.

"Yes. Yes we are." Hermione agreed. "Now can we please put the machismo away and just fucking get to negotiating terms so we can deal with our other unwelcome visitor." Before she had to take another slug of poison to keep going; she could already feel the energy leaching out of her body with every passing moment.

"Why should I make things easier for you?" He might be their prisoner, but Lucius was damned if he was going to be frightened by a group he still thought of as children. He'd stonewall as long as he could while he pondered the implications of what he had seen thus far.

"Because, Mr. Malfoy. We can't let you leave until you swear. And none of us are going to enjoy spending time in each other's presence. Not to mention," Hermione bared her teeth in what might have once been a smile, as she unconsciously rubbed at the scars that decorated her chest, "Some of us have long memories, and hold a grudge. I still owe you, Mr. Malfoy, for what your sister-in-law and allies did to me."

"Hermione!"

"Granger." Draco's growl of protest blended with Potter's wail of outrage.

"Boys." Hermione's tone was one of warning. Her bloody hand clenched around the bottle of Blue Champagne in her lap. "He's a threat and you know it. We can't trust him not to destroy us all. If we let him go now without a fight, he's just going to keep poking around. And even if he doesn't get the answers, we can't take the risk that whoever is behind . . .all this. . . might notice him skulking around and get suspicious. We aren't ready yet. If he swears, then we might be able to use him."

"I don't like it." Harry's voice was flat and unhappy.

"Let me see the oath." Lucius cut in before Draco could voice his own concerns.

"You keep a written copy?" Draco couldn't help the surprise in his voice, as Granger painfully got to her feet and staggered to her desk.

"You think I trust you not to find loopholes?" Hermione sighed, "I needed to know just how far I could trust you."

"Bitch." It was said calmly, but inside Draco was anything but calm.

Meanwhile Harry had turned from his erstwhile best friend in deep disappointment and went to kneel by his semi-conscious wife.

"Ginny, Gin? Are you alright?"

"Harry, wha?" Ginny blearily opened her eyes, "Why am I on the floor?" Harry could see the moment when she woke enough to remember what she had been doing before she woke to find herself in this position. She tensed suddenly, eyes narrowing in deep suspicion, "I saw Malfoy. He attacked us. What happened?"

"Why can't we just stupefy her again?" Draco fairly whined plaintively in the background as Hermione weakly rifled through her drawers for the oath.

"He's still here?" Ginny pushed to her feet in a panic, wand hand at the ready, only to realize her wand was nowhere within her grasp. "Harry! Do something!"

". . . I mean really, Granger, Scarface there already is pissed at you, one little hex at the little wifey can't make him that much more angry, yeah?"

"Gin. . . let me explain. . ."

"Harry James Potter! You give me my wand back right this instant." She'd finally realized where her wand had got to.

"Aha! Found it." Hermione was trying very, very hard to ignore the domestic dispute currently overshadowing their dealings with the dangerous elder Malfoy."

"Fuck it. The sound of her voice is going to drive me insane. Silencio! Merlin's Hairy balls, Potter, why'd you marry such a harpy?"

"Quiet!" It was Lucius' voice that cut through the incipient argument, his glacial eyes pinning each man in turn, conveying his contempt for everyone in the room, his son included. How in hell had they lost the war to squabbling children such as these? Amusing as it was to watch Ginny blanche as she noticed that Draco was not the only Malfoy in the room, he had more important matters to focus on than Potter's domestic squabbles.

"Some days I wonder if the world is really worth saving." Hermione shook her head at the venomous glares Harry and Draco were shooting each other, the motion making her see double. "Harry, what are we going to do about Ginny?"

"Can't we just swear her to secrecy as well?" It was suggested plaintively, as if Harry were asking a favor rather than bringing a useful member to the group. Whatever they decided, they needed to do it soon, as he was having to physically hold Ginny back, and she was not taking the restraint well. Much less the fact that she'd been silenced, or that everyone was talking as if she were not there.

"What on earth does that bitch have to offer our cabal?" Draco sneered, asking the question he just knew Granger was thinking.

"Obliviate her." Lucius suggested coolly

"Obliviate can only go so far." Harry sighed, "she was suspicious before now – I think she thought something was going on between Hermione and me."

"Oh that's rich!" Draco laughed, "you wouldn't even consider sex magic when she was dying. Your wife is an idiot."

"Can we please not discuss that now?" Hermione glanced nervously at Lucius, who was watching the exchange avidly, his ears noticeably perking up at the mention of Hermione's illness.

"But I would so like to hear everything." Lucius fairly purred.

"Oh gods, this is a disaster!" Harry threw up his hands and released his wife from her physical and vocal restraints. "Ginny. It's like this. Just because we won one war, it doesn't mean our world is safe. There's several other threats out there, which we are, apparently, blind to. This should not be surprising given the recent history of the wizarding world to date. We are trying to understand the threats and work to prevent future disasters. Malfoy and Hermione have reached an understanding to work together despite our history. . . ."

"And you didn't think to tell me that you were getting back in the hero game?" Ginny sneered, "Do you think this excuses the hours you spent in your lab, the evenings you didn't come home until after the twins had been put to bed? The way you neglected your own wife?"

"Oh get over yourself." Draco spat, "At least Potter has his priorities straight."

"Oh because Hermione is so special, only she is smart enough to have realized there was a threat? Only she is clever enough to work out how to stop it? Riiiiight. We all remember her desperate bids for attention back in school. Clever, Hermione, to lure the men away from their real responsibilities. And playing the wilting rose to the hilt. Funny how you have yet to tell me what this so-called threat is. And are you even sick at all?"

"Ginny!" Harry was shocked at the vitriol that poured from his wife. "I've been trying to protect our family. Keep it out of this. The less you know, the safer you are. Do you think I want to put you in danger? Trust me, the threat is real. Nothing else would convince me to work with one Malfoy, much less two." The last said with a distinct shudder.

"Bullshit." Ginny snorted, "I can look after myself. I don't need your protection. If something is happening, I want to be a part of it." She eyed the unlikely cabal suspiciously, gears turning in her brain. The last thing she wanted was to lose control over her husband. She had to know what he was up to, to figure out how best to turn that to her own advantage and future social standing.

"No." All eyes turned at Hermione's quiet pronouncement. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't do this. I need people I can work with. I need people who can work with Malfoy. People I can rely on without having to bind them with oaths. People I can trust." With a speed and focus that Draco hadn't thought possible in her debilitated state, Hermione brought her wand to bear on the red-faced and fuming Ginny Potter, "Stupefy. Obliviate." Harry caught Ginny as she dropped to the floor, but no one was close enough to catch Hermione as she collapsed.

"Fucking Hell!" Draco swore, as his body reacted to the shock to Granger's system. That was no half-assed obliviate she cast. She'd knocked Ginny for a loop good and proper. At great cost to herself. What was the point of chugging blue champagne if the bitch was going to blow all her/their magic at one go? That was all the time for reflection he had before the sudden drop in his blood pressure with accompanying palpitations sent him retching, to his knees. "Potter!" he gasped between heaves, "The oath." Lying where Hermione had dropped it, "Give it to father. Make him swear. Word for word." If he had to suffer the damned oath, then he sure as hell wasn't going to let his father have more freedom. "Hurry!" He commanded, hoping the stricken Potter wasn't going to get distracted by the unconscious women and forget the presence of the very dangerous, and by now, quite irate, Lucius Malfoy.

Draco managed to stay conscious just long enough to hear Potter binding his father to the unbreakable, before he let himself slip into the welcoming darkness, following Granger into a restless stupor.

T.B.C.

-- holy shit it has been a long time since I updated. So very sorry. Had bad writers block all spring. As I think this chapter with its wandering all over the place so aptly demonstrates. Amusingly enough, on the other hand, I did manage to write a 14,000 word chapter for a medical textbook (on a topic I knew jack shit about beforehand) in 2 weeks during the ever so productive hours between 8 pm and 1 am. Go figure. Fanfiction is not supposed to be harder to write than academic shite. Oh well. At least I got through this chapter. I had no idea how to resolve it. Arguably, I still don't. Nor do I know where this fic is heading. Any ideas? Please god, let me know. I would like to finish at some point before I get even more bored with the whole thing. keep your fingers crossed the next installment will flow better. –CM.


	17. Chapter 17

Unconscious as he was, Draco was not aware of the brief argument between Potter and his father over who should take possession of him and Granger. The argument might have lasted much longer, had Potter not been burdened by the chore of dealing with his obliviated and stupefied wife – that is, the chore of getting her home and in bed before she woke and ruined all of Hermione's work. Still, it was with a heavy sense of foreboding that Harry watched the senior Malfoy side-along apparate first Draco and then Hermione to the Manor. Intellectually, Harry knew Lucius couldn't deliberately hurt Hermione after swearing the oath, but in his gut he just couldn't erase the feeling that anything to do with Malfoys at Malfoy Manor was doomed to badness.

Draco regained awareness slowly and painfully, feeling as though he were awakening from the worst hangover of his life. His mouth was dry and tasted of unnamable grossness, something like what he imagined bubotuber pus mixed with dragon piss and rotting rat spleens might taste like. His head was pounding as though to the beat of a psychotic drummer in a metal band. Hell's teeth! What on earth had he been drinking?

It took more minutes than it probably should have for Draco to remember what exactly had happened that evening and just how little alcohol it had involved. Goddamned Granger! He didn't mind when he woke up pissed from his own activities but to suffer for her stupidity! It was intolerable! Unfortunately, rage simply made his throbbing headache that much worse, and Draco sagged back into the bed, refusing to open his eyes and acknowledge reality.

"I know you're awake."

Great, just what he needed to make his migraine even worse. His father.

"Go away." Not like he actually thought it would help.

"Do you even know what you've done?" Lucius' voice was cold and hard and full of anger. In his current state, there was no way Draco could have caught the undercurrent of parental concern in his father's tone. Rather, he mistook the anger as righteous fury at the lies and half-truths Draco had been telling him for so long.

"Allied myself with two-thirds of the golden trio?" Draco muttered sarcastically, opening his eyes at last to glare at the pristine ceiling above his head. "Increased the profits of Malfoy industry by 3.4 percent over predicted in the past quarter alone?"

"Son. . . ."

"No wait, what else have I done? Spawned legislation in the Ministry encouraging increased tolerance of squibs and muggleborns?"

"You will shut up now. And you will listen to me!" Suddenly Lucius was looming over the bed, his patrician features frozen in the patented Malfoy glare. "You lied to me. You said you weren't messing around in the dark arts."

"I thought we already went over this." Draco sighed in frustration. "It wasn't me. . . ."

"I'm not talking about the imperio." Lucius was nearly shaking with frustration, "Although we will deal with that later. I'm talking about this!" From somewhere behind him, he produced a book and held it under Draco's nose.

"So?" Draco's head hurt far too much for him to even try to figure out what his father was talking about.

"So?" Lucius flipped the grimoire open to the relevant page. "This is what. _What have you done?_"

"I did what I had to do to keep Granger alive. Can we please talk about this later?"

"This is not a healing spell." Lucius' voice was thick with disbelief.

"No. But it worked!"

"It shouldn't have." Lucius tone brooked no argument. "Do you even know what this is for? No, don't tell me." He held up a stern hand against Draco's irate protest. "This is a spell intended to kill the recipient, slowly, insidiously, by giving all their magic to the caster. One of you should not be living! Is this why it is necessary for your little miss Granger to rely on Blue Champagne? I cannot imagine what you thought you were doing even opening this book, nor can fathom why you would cast such a spell! How are you both alive? Explain this to me!"

"What do you think, Father?" Draco had had enough and he spat his ire through his throbbing pain, "You criticized me all through my youth as not being good enough, not smart enough, all because Granger beat me in every class in school. But father, she is not known as the smartest witch of her age for nothing. She may be brilliant," (much as it pained him to admit it), "But I am hardly stupid either. I came in ahead of every Ravenclaw in my year, just not as far ahead as Granger. So yes, I know what that spell is, and yes, I know what it is supposed to do. But I also know arithmancy and charms. Spells can be modified."

"Men have died trying to rework even the simplest of charms."

"So they have. But she was dying. She needed magic. I modified the spell and cast it upon myself to share mine with her."

"You should have let her die."

"I had no choice."

"There are other ways."

"Such as?"

"Did you even try a healing spell?"

"Father. She burnt out her magic. You can't heal someone who has no magic."

"It was that bad?"

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Blood magic then."

"Potter tried that."

"Potter." Said with a disbelieving sneer.

"I did what I had to do."

"But you don't even know what you've done!"

"Enlighten me."

"You reversed the spell, didn't you?

"Sort of."

"That spell cannot be used by the weaker person. Like attracts like. The caster is supposed to draw magic to them, and you are pushing yours away. The connection is unstable."

"Blah blah blah."

"So you had to create a link, to stabilize the flow of magic. To keep the magic flowing as long as she needed it."

"And?"

"It still should have killed you. What you did, it should have sucked it all right out of you and left you an empty husk, lying drained on the floor. No woman is worth that."

"Hah. She is no woman." Draco allowed himself a slight moment of amusement. "I told you, I modified the spell."

"You have no idea what you've done."

"I created a second bond."

"And yet, you're still dying!" Lucius' voice was shaking with emotion.

"I'm just a little washed out right now. It's your fault. The silly bint is not supposed to be using magic until she recovers. You forced her hand. I'll be better when she is."

"She will never be better."

"Sure she will; she's much better than she was."

"And you are worse."

"Stop beating around the bush, father. And just fucking tell me already just how you think I fucked the spell up."

"The magic recognizes you as one person. That's how you got around the spell. The magic wants to equilibrate. But one person can't have two bodies. You feel what she does. She feels what you do. The magic is burning itself up trying to cope. You will both die."

"You're wrong."

"What do you think I've been doing these hours while you've been unconscious? I did the math."

"Show me."

"I showed Granger."

"She's hardly in a state to be doing arithmancy!"

"Tell that to her. She woke hours before you." He didn't mention that her early wakening was due to Blue-Champagne-induced nightmares, rather than a faster recovery time.

"Fuck!"

"Language! Your mother did not defy the dark lord just to watch you die from a miscast spell. She's in with the Granger girl now, trying to figure out a counterspell."

"You break the link, and Granger will die."

"Don't break it, and you do. Do you think I give a damn about the girl?"

"I'm surprised you haven't tried already."

"So soon you forget the oath you and your little friends made me swear."

"Right." Draco snorted. "But mother swore nothing."

"If she does it wrong, the recoil could kill you anyway. We're not taking chances."

"I am so reassured." Draco closed his eyes. He was going to have to get himself and Granger out of here as soon as possible. Recheck the math for himself. They would have to find a solution before his parents found one for him. Because, much as he hated to admit it, Granger was required, alive, to save the world. No one else could hold their cabal together. No one else could bridge magical and muggle so cleverly. Who else could keep track of all the threads of their various enterprises? Without her, they would fall apart. For sure, none of her friends would have aught to do with him if not for her, and he sure as hell couldn't do it by himself, or Merlin forbid, with only his father for backup. It was a terrifying thought, and Draco struggled to rouse himself from his bed.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Up. Got work to do."

"No. You don't." Lucius shook his head slowly. His son needed sleep and he would get it, whether he wanted to or not. A quick wave of the wand, a murmured word, and it was done. Draco slumped back down into the bed, out cold, and Lucius stooped to pull the comforter back over his troublesome child.

---

Hermione was frustrated. Narcissa, Madame pure-blood supremacy Malfoy, herself, was pretending to be icily polite while not-so-subtly plotting ways to off her. And what on earth had possessed Harry to let Lucius abduct her to Malfoy Manor in the first place? She felt terribly exposed here. Weak without her magic, unprotected without her wards. And who knew who or what might be listening in these walls? She didn't trust people with her secrets, much less house-elves or nargles. Not to mention that Narcissa hadn't sworn an oath, and she'd bet her precious patents that Lucius would be trying to find some way to circumvent the terms of his. Malfoys couldn't be trusted. What's worse, she hated that they'd witnessed her nightmares. No one was supposed to know about her weakness. The price she paid for Blue Champagne. She might not have killed herself yet, but the black dreams drove her damned close.

"He's asleep." Lucius tersely interrupted the women's impending argument.

"Good." Narcissa sighed, "Lucius, how could we not have noticed sooner?"

"He's a big boy." Hermione cut in, "He was doing just fine before your husband interfered."

"He's not fine." Narcissa insisted, "You are killing him."

"We've been over this already. I did not tell him to cast that spell. But, I am grateful not to be dead myself. So let's move on." Hermione dragged a weary hand across her bleary, blood-shot eyes.

"Fine." Narcissa sniffed primly, "Would you care for some tea?" it was, after all, mid-morning and not a one of them had had breakfast yet.

"Please."

An uncomfortable silence fell across the room as the summoned house elves laid out the tea.

"So tell me, what exactly have you dragged my son and husband into?" Narcissa finally broke the silence. After all, someone had to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"My dear. I will find out one way or another. Isn't that right, Lucius?"

"You children couldn't hide from me, you won't be able to hide from 'Cissy now that she knows something is afoot." Lucius agreed.

"Yes, and you know what oaths you had to swear before we'd even consider telling you a thing."

"I've sworn worse oaths in my time."

"Of that, I have no doubt." Hermione looked pointedly at his arm, where the dark mark had long since faded to scar tissue. "But you still don't know what you've gotten into. And there is no way in any hell you can name that I will tell you in this house."

"I beg your pardon?" Narcissa's hackles rose at the perceived slur upon her home.

"Tainted by the ghosts of the murdered? Infiltrated by gods only knows what evil? Not to mention insecure. Do you even know how many house elves you own? Or what else lurks within these walls? Did you cast every ward yourselves? Or do you rely upon the layered protections of your ancestors? Can you name every spell woven into your walls? I doubt it." Hermione sniffed. "I'll not spill a word in such circumstances."

"Even the Dark Lord was not half so paranoid."

"Riddle was insane and, let's face it, hardly well grounded in reality. His trust in Snape was his downfall. Not to mention his inane anagramming."

"What's the worst that a spy in your ranks could do?"

"That is the question. Isn't it?" Hermione allowed herself a humorless smile. "Mrs. Malfoy, it has not escaped my attention that it is in my best interest to swear you to the oath that your husband has sworn. Otherwise, I fear that you might take it upon yourself to sever my bond with your son. I understand your maternal concern, but the consequences of my death would not be pleasant. Still, I cannot bind you to the oath in my present state, nor would I want the oath performed within these walls. So for now, your curiosity will remain unsated, and I remain at your mercy."

"And still you talk in circles." Lucius sneered.

"It's a skill." Hermione sniffed daintily, and sipped her tea. The hauteur of her actions was diminished somewhat by her drooping eyelids and rapidly flagging energy.

Yet again, an awkward silence prevailed; Hermione's exhaustion preventing her from noting the glances that the elder Malfoys were exchanging over her head. After a while, Hermione rose and staggered back to the room the Malfoy's had deigned to furnish her with.

A surprise was awaiting her there, in the form of a disgruntled, sleep tousled Draco. He was obviously waiting on her arrival, slouched over as he was, in an easy chair near the ornate fireplace.

"We need to get out of here." He stated without preamble, though it was obvious by the state of him that he was in no shape to even have gotten out of bed, much less be giving orders. It was a minor miracle he'd made it to her room in the first place, given the double whammy of his own exhaustion coupled with his father's sleep spell.

"I know." Hermione sighed, "But we also need to deal with your parents. . . And you need to get back to bed."

"Can't." Draco shook his head, though the movement sent waves of nausea through them both.

"Can't?"

"This house is no friend to the muggleborn." And what was bad for her could only hurt him.

"Damnit." Couldn't anything go right for her this week? "I'm in no shape to apparate. Are you?"

"Got floo powder."

"I'm not on the network."

"But my flat is. Brand new highrise. Muggle building. Wards all my own."

"Let's do it." Hermione's easy acquiescence might have had something to do with a desire to find out if the dizziness, and nauseating flashes of palpitations had to do with her depleted state or with the cursed air of Malfoy Manor.

With a grimace, Draco told her the address, cast a handful of powder into the smoldering fireplace and stepped away. Hermione took a breath and followed suit. She hated the floo; it was a filthy way to travel, and she always tripped as she reoriented herself to a new room. This time was no exception, and, with a string of unlady-like expletives, she stumbled across the hearth and into her co-conspirator.

"Fucking hell!" Draco swore, as she bruised his shins on her way down. He might be swaying from exhaustion but no scrawny chick was going to knock him off balance. Hermione was inclined to agree with his curses. The fall to the floor had not helped her queasiness any. At least that's what she thought. How was she to know it wasn't the fall at all that was causing her misery? Both she and Draco had grown so accustomed to their shared breathing patterns, shifting erratically between what her body wanted and what his body wanted, that they no longer even registered this as the cause of a large part of their discomfort. That is, until Draco reached down to grab her hand and pull Hermione to her feet. The shock was electric, and totally unexpected. They rarely touched. Never on purpose, and not since her time in the hospital.

But now? A shudder ran through the both of them as their breathing synched up completely. Not her normal rhythm, nor his, but something in between. She could feel her pulse slowing, even as his quickened, as a balance was finally obtained. They were of course, still both totally exhausted—No mere touch could restore their magical reserves or compensate for a lack of much needed sleep—but the nausea, that unsettled feeling in the pits of their stomach was much reduced. Hermione was even willing to bet, if they were to give it long enough, she'd no longer be tortured by bouts of hot and cold, sweat and dry as their bodies fought to exert control over the other.

"Merlin's hairy balls." Draco growled, dropping Hermione's hand as soon as she'd regained her feet, and staring at his own as if it were some alien appendage. "What the hell was that?" With the loss of skin contact, Hermione noticed that their newfound equilibrium was quickly lost.

"Consequences."

She'd hated when her body lost its own rhythms, when even her pulse was not her own. Hated knowing what kind of light was shining wherever he was, or how excited he was, or hungry, or tired. Her only relief had been that the further away they were, the less time the episodes tended to last. So how ironic was it that now, all of a sudden, the best relief came from physical contact with Malfoy.

"The gods are laughing." Draco muttered in disgust. "Fuck this. I can't deal with anything else right now. I'm going to bed. You can have the couch. Try not to drool on it." With that, he staggered off to his bedroom, leaving Hermione alone to stumble to the couch and collapse into a distracted sleep.

Answers would have to wait until another day.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Morning at Malfoy's flat found Hermione and Draco sharing a pathetic breakfast of tea. Despite their continued state of weakness and exhaustion, neither would stoop to attempting to eat the stale crisps in his pantry or the moldy-god-only-knows-what-it-once-was in the fridge. Seriously, you'd think wizards would have invented a better stasis charm by now. Or else his leftovers were even more frighteningly antique than Hermione wanted to think about. Obviously, he hadn't spent much time here recently, and Hermione couldn't quite help but feel it was her fault. Strangely, she almost felt bad at how her schemes had taken over his life. She'd never thought she'd see the day when she felt bad for the ferret. On the other hand, nothing in her life was quite how she would have pictured it when she was a child.

"Malfoy?"

"What, Granger?"

"Remember when I first got out of the hospital?"

"Yeah."

"I don't suppose you did like I asked?"

"Granger, you gave me a list of 50 impossible things you wanted done, between the business and the Ministry and dealing with saint fucking Potter. Which so-called 'request' are you referring to?"

"The emergency clauses."

"Oh that." He rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, "Yeah. Though I still don't see the goddamned point."

"Good." Hermione put down her half-drunk cup of tea. "How are we doing with the transfer of goods from my warehouse to yours?"

"Fucking hell Granger, don't you ever give it a rest?! Seriously, woman, we have bigger problems than that! In case you hadn't noticed, we're supposedly dying, my father knows about us, mother wants you dead, neither of us can fucking breath right unless we're touching, as if we didn't have enough problems, we still don't know who is trying to kill us all or how they've poisoned our pumpkin juice, and the ministry is full of incompetents and jackasses getting in our way, destroying our bills with riders and clauses and fuck all! And you want to know about a bunch of goddamned minerals and shit? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Sometimes, Malfoy, it's the little things that count." Hermione grit her teeth against the backlash of his fury. It would be so easy to reach across the table, grab his arm, and get some relief from the constant nausea caused by her fluctuating heart rate, her uneven breathing, and her dilating pupils. But she knew that wouldn't go over well at all, Damnit. If only she didn't feel so faint all the time.

"And sometimes, Granger it's the big things."

"Ok, Malfoy. Let's take stock." Hermione gulped the last dregs of her tea and launched into lecture mode.

"One: The Ministry. You have the undersecretary of Muggle Affairs in your pocket, right?"

"I wish. What is the world coming to when they turn your bribes down flat? Seriously, an honest politician? How gauche. No, but her secretary is ours. And she trusts him."

"Good enough. What do we have before her?"

"We've got sales of magical goods deregulation. She has to sign off before that can go to the Secretary of Commerce, and he has to bring it to committee, and somehow we have to get it passed the secrecy statutes. That is not going to be easy. Not to mention it then has to go to the Muggle Parliament. And we all know how they feel about magic after the war." Over a decade later, and anti-wizard feelings ran high among those few muggle polticians unlucky enough to be allowed to know about the parallel society living next to them, and the sociopaths that had run unchecked amongst them.

"Do you have any good news on the political front?"

"The muggle culture education bill is up before the Wizengamot next month. Between the starry eyed idealists and the easily bought, we should have enough votes to push it through with only minor changes. Though, you know as well as I do, that certain elements of society will fight to pull their children from school before they subject them to mandatory muggle appreciation courses."

"There will always be hardliners among us." Hermione scowled, "If you didn't know integration was necessary for the survival of our kind, you'd likely still be one of them. And don't you try to deny it."

"Whatever." Draco clenched his fists around his cooling mug. Granger could be so fucking uptight. "You should be pleased to hear, they renewed your business permits, and security exemptions. Not that you had any doubt, with the Weasleys at your beck and call." _And not that you can actually do anything about your business in the state you're in_. He wisely refrained from adding aloud.

"Good. At least that's something gone right for once. I don't suppose you've heard from Harry?"

"Granger, have we been apart for any amount of time since waking up this morning? No. I haven't. And nor have you, unless I've really been unconscious and hallucinating this whole conversation with you."

"No need to get snippy. I'm just worried is all. He looked like he had something to tell me the other night before everything went all pear-shaped. And I'm concerned about Ginny. I should never have let him get involved in all this."

"Much as I hate to say it, Granger, but Potter is an adult and can look after himself. He's not the one dying right now from a magical imbalance."

"I know. I know. And we are."

"Finally got tired of ignoring the elephant in the room, yeah?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy. I've been thinking."

"When do you ever not?"

"Hah, hah, very funny. I had an idea, which was why I asked how we were doing about the warehouse. If I can cancel enough of the bottomless charms I put on the barrels, I think that would maybe free up enough energy to keep this bond stable long enough for us to find a way to break it, without the recoil killing the both of us." Hermione surreptitiously crossed her fingers underneath the table. There was no need for Malfoy to know how she really thought the numbers would work themselves out.

"There's a problem with that, Granger. Between the two of us, we don't even have enough magic to levitate a pencil, much less unbind one very complex charm, let alone a whole warehouse full."

"Where there's a will, there's a way. Malfoy."

"Yeah, and your way usually involves insane risks and illegal potions."

"Whatever works."

"Yeah, that was the Dark Lord's motto too. Look how well that worked out for old snakeface."

Hermione chose not to dignify that barb with an answer. She was too busy running through arithmancy equations in her head.

"I can handle it."

"In the state we're in? Granger, No one has ever taken as much Blue Champagne as you have. You should be dead ten times over. Hell, If I have to suffer through the effects on you too many more times, I'm going to start wanting to kill myself."

"And we couldn't have that."

"Neither of us is expendable. You think if you die, I can carry this off by myself? There's no way in hell Potter and I can work together, much less Potter and my father."

"And yet we get along. Somehow." Hermione snorted. Funny that.

"Yeah well." Draco muttered. One thing was sure, his life hadn't been boring since that fateful day in her office.

"Right then, let's go." Hermione affected a briskness she really didn't feel and pushed herself out of her seat, only to sway dizzily against the table, her head swimming and her knees wobbly.

"Whoa, Granger." Involuntarily, Draco moved to support her; both of them slumping slightly in relief as the physical contact restored equilibrium to their dysfunctional bodies. "Where are we going?"

"My flat." They both knew what she needed there, "Then the warehouse."

Together they moved to the floo, neither acknowledging the fact that their arms were still linked, or how much more comfortable each felt with this unwonted familiarity than they could have ever believed possible. And not only because of the magical bond.

---

"OK then, are you ready?"

"No. Let's get it over with." Draco sneered sullenly. He still was not at all happy with this so-called plan. Still, much as he hated to admit it, Granger had a point about cleaning this place up a bit.

They sat, together, cross-legged on the floor in one corner of the vast warehouse, their knees touching, almost as if in preparation for some yoga or meditation. Hermione's back was braced against a crate of something, while Draco leaned against the wall. Fortunately it was a Sunday, and the building was echoingly silent.

"Right then." Hermione took a deep breath, dreading what was to come. It never got any better. Rather the reverse, every time she took a hit of this potion, she felt as though her soul were trying to rend itself apart, as though her world were crashing down. And yet the magic pouring in could not replenish the aching, bottomless void within. The cold enduring dark, like a gaping rift in her soul. If she could somehow burn it up, even if she had to burn with it, she would. That was not an option, although freezing in its gelid depths just might be. Something to look forward to if this didn't work. Enough dithering. She uncorked the vial, glaring at the iridescent fluid within, daring it to do its worst. A quick slug was best, the liquid slithering down her throat. Then the rush of power, slamming into her vacant depths. Better than sex, magic was the breath of life. All too short though, and following rapidly on its heels the anti-rush of hatred, self-doubt, loathing and despair. _Been here, done that_. She forced herself to repeat her well worn mantra, even as she gasped for air, hunching forward almost into Malfoy's personal space. Seeing the contorted agony on his face as he felt the echo through their link. Perhaps the closest sensation would be of dementors in the room, waking from the worst nightmare ever, and wondering what was the reality, and what the dream. She could fight this, she knew she could. Just as long as it was enough.

It was a struggle, and Hermione knew that sooner or later, if she kept this up, it was a fight she would lose, just as Malfoy appeared to be losing—and him only experiencing a diluted version.

"No!" A desperate shout leapt from her throat like a sob, as she slapped his wand out of his hand. "Focus Malfoy! Damnit!"

"What, Granger? Tell me, what do you have to keep you going? What do either of us have? After the things we've seen. After the things we've done?"

"Someone has to, Malfoy. Look at the world around you, and tell me, who else is strong enough? Now pull yourself together and give me a hand!" No matter that he merely expressed what she felt all the time. Impatiently, Hermione grabbed Malfoy's hand with her left, gripping her wand with the other, and pulling him to his feet. It was time to begin.

One, two, five, ten, a hundred, a thousand?. How many barrels? Malfoy lost count. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know. The first wasn't so bad; Granger gripping his hand, white knuckled, with her left, while her right wove complex unbindings in the air with her wand, and chanting softly, as she carefully undid the bottomless spell. It wasn't simple, not if the caster didn't want the magics to explode in an apocalypse of unbinding. No, each one had to be careful, methodical, and precise. He'd expect nothing less from Granger, not after all he'd seen. When it was done, he could feel it. Pulsing a little stronger within, one less drain on their magic down. He just hoped Granger knew what she was doing. Hoped the energies she was freeing up could compensate for those she was fast expending on each unbinding. He could feel that too, but somehow, despite the link, he felt as though he were insulated from the worst of it. Sure, he was tired, and somewhere along the way, standing became an effort. For all that, Granger plainly had it worse.

Malfoy couldn't say when he finally began to notice. How long had her face been that ashen shade of grey? How long had his heart felt like it was beating for the both of them? Her voice was hoarse, her wrist was aching. Yet still, she moved on, like some sort of automaton. He almost expected it, when his heart first faltered, and skipped a beat. His hands were white and cold, just like hers. But his core, his core felt, better, at least a little, So what was wrong with Granger? He couldn't just shake her and demand "What have you done?" Not in the middle of these spells, and she seemed intent on not letting him interfere, for now she was not even pausing between barrels, but starting the next unbinding as soon as she'd finished the last. This wasn't good.

Had they been at this an hour, two? All day? Hermione couldn't tell anymore. It was all a blur, as she staggered through, determined to see this to the end. Malfoy hadn't noticed at first, the subtle changes she'd worked into the unbinding spells, but he was a clever man. She knew he was suspicious, his fine features set in a frown, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he reined in his urge to demand answers. It was actually kind of cute. She really, really hoped that he hadn't lied and had paid attention her emergency procedures. She was pretty sure she was going to need them by the time this day was over. Rather ironic really. Still, she was almost certain this would work. The theory was sound at any rate, and with the amount of magic she was freeing from this endeavor, well—it couldn't be any worse than their current situation. A fast recovery might be nice, but she couldn't get her hopes up. This was probably going to hurt. A lot, if her calculations were right. Oh well, she was no stranger to pain, and at least this probably wouldn't leave any more scars than she already had. At least not on the outside.

Finally, the last row, the last barrel. Thank Merlin. Hermione wasn't even quite sure how she was still walking any more; she thought she would have noticed if Malfoy were holding her up. Of course, Malfoy didn't seem to have figured out what she was doing to their bond as she performed her other spells; he didn't know he didn't have to hold her hand to feel balanced, in fact, by this point it was probably the opposite; he'd feel even better if he let go. But she wouldn't. An unbinding spell is an unbinding spell. The trick is all in how you apply it. As the Malfoys senior had implied, they couldn't just cast a _finite incantatum_ without the backlash killing the two of them—like separating Siamese twins joined at the liver with a hacksaw. The consequences would be messy. But subtle surgery—Now that could do a lot. Hermione had wielded her magic like a scalpel these past few hours, carving away at the ties that bound them. She couldn't undo it entirely; Dark magic was never meant to be reversed, but she could change it, as Malfoy had altered the spell for her. Reverse the changes he had made, if she'd guessed them right, and turn the spell back to its original intent. One more pass should do it, and that would be that. He was stronger, and she was weaker after all this spell work. Not to mention that she also got to experience the residual backlash from each ended charm, more like a kick in the gut than anything else.

It was funny, in a way; If Malfoy had not cast the bond in the first place, then she almost certainly would have died, but now she was going to have to die to end it.

A few quick words and it would be done. She was weak enough, she thought it would be quick. The backlash from this last should be just enough to push her over the edge.

And. . . There!

Yup. It hurt. Every bit as much as she'd thought. But thankfully not for long.

"Granger!" Draco had been on edge for quite some time, just waiting for something to happen. He just wasn't sure what. It didn't quite surprise him as much as it could have, then, when Granger suddenly started convulsing the second the last words of her final chant had left her mouth. Her wand fell, clattering and unnoticed to the floor, as Draco grabbed her, hard, before she could crash to the ground. "Granger! Snap out of it." A vigorous backhand to her face was not beneath him. It was not as satisfying as he might have hoped. Nor did it have the desired effect of reviving her. He felt much better, after their day's work, so what was wrong with her? And then he felt it, like a punch to the solar plexus, so strong he thought he might have blacked out for a second. Or maybe, like the recoil of an elastic band. A really big elastic band. In his chest. It took the wind right out of him, and left him dizzy and weak, but otherwise. . .

"Granger! What. Have. You. Done?!"

She could not answer him; her face was pale and slack as she sprawled gracelessly on the floor. "Granger!"

"Fucking Hell!" Draco wasn't sure if he trusted his magic right now enough to run diagnostics on the woman in front of him. Had she planned this all along? Was this why? Emergency measures, she'd called them. Muggle emergency methods! He should have known. Granger should have been a goddamned Slytherin.

"Right then." Draco took a deep breath. Talking to himself was calming, and he needed to be calm. He'd talked himself through the Dark lord's reign, he'd talked himself through Azkaban, he could talk himself through this. "Granger, you bitch, you're not allowed to die. We discussed this this morning. You are not expendable and you know it." Still, it was undeniable. There was no pulse. Her chest did not rise with breath. "Every minute you stay dead, you psycho mudblood, is more brain cells you're losing. You want that? Huh?"

Insults don't work on the dead. Guess he had no choice then. CPR it was. "This is so beneath me." He muttered furiously, "Airway. Check" no, she hadn't swallowed her tongue. At least that was something. "Breathing. No. Ugh." Draco screwed up his face in a moue of disgust. "You owe me for this, Granger. Big time. I'm talking life debt here." Two breaths in, making sure her chest rose. Not as bad as he thought it would be. "Chest. Sorry, G. This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me." And he began, wincing as the sound of her ribs breaking brought back memories of torture sessions he had been forced to watch during the war. "They say this is how it's supposed to be done." Two more breaths, more compressions. Wait. Granger employed muggles. That meant her warehouse had to obey muggle safety regulation. "Accio. . . Oh what the hell is it called? Accio defribriller? Fuck! Defibula? No. Oh! Accio Defibrillator! Thank Merlin." He sighed as the sound of breaking glass in an office at the other end of the building alerted him that the device was on its way. "Right then. One lead here, other here. I really fucking hate you, Granger." Seriously, how many times was she going to force him to see her half-naked and unconscious? "Turn the box on. Charging. . . and clear." The body on the floor before him twitched, and Draco hastened to feel for a pulse. None. "Fine, be that way,"

He gave a few more angry chest compressions and then shocked her again. And this time . . . Success! A slow pulse, weak, but there nonetheless. Still not breathing though. "I know you can't get a man, Granger, but this is the wrong way to go about it. Rescue breaths, my ass." Still he did it, until he felt the first ghost of a breath across his face. "Right, quite enough of that then." She was alive, though god only knew how she'd be when she regained consciousness, assuming she did regain consciousness. "Time to call the professionals. Muggle, magical, muggle, magical?" Draco glanced again at Hermione's body, where bruises were already beginning to form on her chest. Not to mention the rather large electrical burns from the defibrillator pads. "Muggle it is." Yeah. He could just picture the Headlines of the Daily Prophet if he brought her to St. Mungos, "Malfoy, Convicted War Criminal, Tortures War Heroine Hermione Granger!" Yeah, there would be none of that.

It was only after the paramedics had come and taken them away, leaving Draco to restlessly pace in a drab hospital waiting room, that he stopped to think about what she'd done. _Unbinding spells. She was unbinding more than the bottomless charms. He'd thought he was feeling better because she was draining less of his magic with each charm she'd terminated. But that wasn't it. Mother said the only way to end our link was to kill her, but that the backlash would kill us both. So what did she do? There was a backlash, when he blacked out, of a sort, but weak._ It didn't add up. Moodily, Draco chugged a brackish coffee some well-meaning nurse had brought him, _Wait. What if? Granger was insane, but an insane genius. Undoing his spellwork, fine. He could see that, but what about her magic? Even the link reverted to its intended purpose, he should be stronger, not merely normal, and she shouldn't have died. Not with all those charms she'd tterminated, ending what should have been a tremendous drain on her core._ "Come on Granger. What did you do with it? What spell did you work when I wasn't paying attention?" It had to be something subtle, something strong enough to continue to drain her magics, but she would have been clever about it. So something that could be gradually undone, returning her magic to her gently, like what should have been done today. She wouldn't want to risk a backlash if something went wrong. Yeah well, he'd show her backlash. . . In only he could figure it out.

"Sir? Sir? The young lady, she's awake." A very timid orderly was nervously calling him. Plainly not sure who he was, or what his relationship to the woman he'd come in with was. Boyfriend, Husband? Good Samaritan? Hah.

"Thank you." Draco grit his teeth and went to see the woman who made his life hell.

"Malfoy.. ." Her voice, was weak, barely a whisper, and her eyes cloudy from the morphine drip.

"Granger, I hate you. You died. You could have killed us both! After all the work I went through to keep you alive after last time!"

"We would have died if I didn't, Malfoy. Come on, can you tell me you're not glad that you'll never wake up in the middle of the night to find your heart beating to an alien rhythm? That you'll never have to worry that when you open your mouth to eat that instead you'll end up gasping and choking simply because I happen to yawn at that point? I appreciate what you did, then and now." Despite the excruciating pain in her rib cage. Broken ribs were no joke. "But it couldn't go on. And it worked, didn't it?"

"You're a madwoman with a deathwish, Granger."

"Now, now, if I had a deathwish, I would have gone alone."

Draco sighed. Hard to argue with that logic. "You planned this all. The CPR and everything."

"I wish. I just thought given my debilitated state that it might come in useful."

"Riiiighht. Are you going to tell me how you tied up your magic?"

"Do you have my wand?"

"Right here."

"I need it."

"Tell me what you did."

He sounded so much like a petulant child that Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. "It's an old charm. From the same book as the spell you used on us."

"Dark magic."

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, Malfoy."

"Hey, look. Are those scales on your face?"

Hermione laughed softly, but stopped abruptly, wincing in pain, "Says the man whose family is synonymous with Dark Magic. . . Ever hear the adage, 'don't bind your strength in objects?'"

"No."

"No matter, it's from medieval times. When that book was written, spells to drain your enemy's strength were common; Magical vampirism, almost."

"And your point is?"

"Many wizards were brave or foolish, or greedy, and chose to fight, but there were also those who chose to hide. Especially when traveling. Dampen their core so low, they could pass for a squib, or some weak peon. No one worth harassing. So they bound up their magic into an object, like charging a muggle battery. Until they needed it."

"That sounds like the stupidest idea ever."

"Yeah. It kinda was. There was a market for such charged objects. Thieves specialized in stealing them, selling to the highest bidder. Because once it's bound like that, the magic will enter whomever discharges the object. And if that person is not the rightful owner, then the magic just keeps flowing one to another. Just like your spell. Which it was based off of. So can I please have my wand back now?"

"All that power? In here?" Draco peered closely at Hermione's wand, as if it would give its secrets up to him.

"All the magic I was pouring into the bottomless charms, is now flowing into my wand. Yes."

"And if I break it?"

"If the backlash doesn't kill me? Hell if I know, but I doubt it's pleasant. Come on, Malfoy, I know you didn't save my life just to torture me. . ."

"Maybe, I did." Draco lifted on eyebrow archly, "Sometimes I feel like we're not equal partners in this Granger. I am not your lackey. I don't like being kept in the dark, and I want more control in this partnership. I'm sick of following orders while you keep secrets. I don't want to play nice with Potter and his wife while you call all the shots. Got it?"

What could she say? She needed her wand, and he knew it. "Fine."

"Swear to it."

"Fine. As long as you remember to tell your mother to stop planning my demise"

"Alright, then."

Malfoy always liked to get his way. Almost as much as Hermione liked the warm sensation spreading through her body as she murmured the activating words over her wand. It would take a few days to discharge, but still; nothing beat a plan going right for once.

"Malfoy?"

"What now.?"

"There's a bottle of skele-grow in my bathroom at home, do you think . . .?"

"Fucking hell. What did I say about not being a lackey?"

"Do it, or I'll tell your father that you gave me mouth to mouth resuscitation."

"You wouldn't"

"I so would."

"Fuck!"

The nurse who looked in on Hermione a few seconds later couldn't help but wonder about the strange cracking sound she'd heard seconds before entering the room, or the self-satisfied smile lingering on her patient's lips. But where on earth the young gentleman had got off to so suddenly was even more of a complete mystery. One her patient had no intention of answering.

TBC

. . .yes yes, it has been a long time. I hope this update was worth it. If not, then oh well, you get what you get. This spring has been a bit hectic, and is about to get more so, as I am moving to the other side of the country soon. So don't get your hopes up too high for more updates anytime soon, I'm not good at this whole moving thing, and I've got too much shit to get done before I go.. (Not like I don't have a million other excuses for not updating.) And yes, CPR really is that unpleasant, done correctly. Do you know how much one broken rib hurts? How much pain would you endure to save your life? Ugh.


	19. Chapter 19

"I just don't know what to do." Harry Potter slumped wearily into the offered chair. His hair was even more disheveled than usual, and his eyes were so bloodshot, that Luna thought he might've been bitten by the crimson-eyed horckish gnat; a most loathsome and dangerous creature, which, fortunately, was also nearly extinct. Just in case, though, she made sure to lace the tea she proffered the distraught man with a few leaves of wild parsnip. Even non-magical plants could act as antidotes to some venoms.

Harry's next words made Luna wonder if perhaps she'd been too slow with the tea, as well as reconsider the local prevalence of crimson-eyed horckish gnats.

"I've been thinking of leaving my wife."

Plainly, the Potters hadn't been de-infesting their house adequately of certain malicious creatures. Well, the Weasleys always had been a bit on the slovenly side. She shouldn't expect too much of Ginny. But still... "Oh Harry! What happened?"

"Oh god, Luna. What didn't happen?" He knew he probably shouldn't be discussing his domestic troubles with Luna, but he certainly couldn't talk to Ron about it. He would feel weird imposing on Neville with his difficulties, and Hermione. . . well, after last night he didn't think she was the right person to help him through this either. Imperiouses, Obliviates, Malfoy elder and junior. Dark magic, Unbreakable Oaths. It was all a little too much. Too much history. Too much memory. He just needed someone to talk to. Was that too much to ask?

Noticing his reticence, Luna decorated her office with a few more privacy spells and waited with her usual patience until the words came forth, first at a stumble, and then faster and faster as if Harry were trying to purge himself of last night's events, as well as years of vague unhappiness all in one cathartic torrent of speech.

"Oh Harry," she sighed, when at last his verbal diarrhea slowed to a dribble, then tailed off into an awkward silence.

"I know." He hung his head sadly, "All I ever wanted was a quiet life. I just don't know what to do. Can I fix my marriage? Should I? What about this madness with the Malfoys? And Hermione? I feel like I don't even know her anymore. Everything is falling apart."

Luna closed her eyes and counted to ten. She only had vague memories of Harry during his whingy 6th year, but this conversation was starting to remind her why he had had so few friends then. If she were Hermione, she'd tell him to get a grip and pull himself together. But look how well that had ever worked. A different tactic was plainly in order.

"Fuck! What time is it?" Harry started suddenly at the sound of her clock chiming the hour, "This is not going to look good. Gin's going to kill me if I don't get home in the next hour. I'm not kidding Luna, I really can't take this much longer. Running around behind her back, Obliviates, Dark magic, trying to save the world a-fucking-gain! And you know what I have to face if I get home 2 seconds later than she told me? She thinks I'm lazy. That I'm wasting our lives, that I'm not spending enough attention on her. She bloody well thinks I'm having an affair with Hermione. She's like my sister. That's just wrong. No I can't do this. Something has to give, Luna. Something has to give, or I swear to Merlin that I'm going to snap."

This was getting nowhere fast. Luna decided it was time for a little proactive behavior.

"More tea?" Luna didn't give Harry the chance to say no, before mixing up a pot of her special tea. A little calming potion never hurt anyone. With the teensiest hint of an aphrodisiac, to hopefully distract him and Ginny from their domestic issues when he got home. After she made sure he'd gotten enough of it down, she pinned Harry with her bright blue eyes; a more focused or intent expression than he had ever seen on her. Anyone who saw this side of her would never think to call her Loony or underestimate her ever again.

"Now then." She settled back slightly in her chair, and mustered her most commanding voice, "Get a grip. Have you ever tried talking to Ginny? Does she know you're unhappy? Does she know why? Don't you two ever take the time to put up wards against the purple-striped slurgs? More marriages have been ruined because people just don't pay attention to the things lurking in their walls."

Harry gasped suddenly, as if doused in icewater. "The things lurking in the walls!"

"Yes, Harry. Why do you think I have so many wards in my office? I can't have such things clouding my judgement."

"No, no, no." Harry shook his head as if swatting away flies. "I had an idea, but now it's gone, The walls. What was it about the walls?"

"We were talking about Ginny."

"What else lurks in the walls?"

So much for her calming draught. Luna rolled her eyes and began ticking rare species off on her fingers, ". . . also mice, and depending on the house, and when it was constructed, there might be passages for the house elves. . . ."

"That's it! Luna, you're a genius! I could kiss you!" Harry was suddenly out of his seat and pacing.

"What, house elves are causing your problems with Ginny? No Harry, magical pests can worsen problems, but you have to take some responsibility."

"No. Arghh! We've been so stupid. I have to talk to Hermione. Right now."

"Harry?"

"What do you mean she's not here?" Harry glared suspiciously at the senior Malfoy, while surreptitiously surveying the room. As if Granger would be hidden behind a velvet curtain or ancient arras depicting the bloody history of the Malfoy lineage. "She was here yesterday. Still asleep. I doubt very much she's in any shape to be getting out of bed, much less going anywhere.

"Nevertheless," Lucius sneered, "She found our hospitality to be not to her liking, and she and my son absconded last night."

"I wonder why on earth she might not have wanted to stay under the same roof as the man who tried to kill her." Harry muttered under his breath, eyeing his surroundings with undisguised loathing. Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that Malfoy was not telling him the entire truth. Hell, it would probably kill Malfoy to be completely honest for once in his miserable life. "So, where is she?"

"I presumed they had gone to my son's apartment. But by the time my wife and I realized they had gone, they were no longer there."

"Arghh." Harry was about ready to pull his hair out with frustration. The situation just wasn't getting any better. "And what have you told Narcissa?"

"What would you have me say?" Lucius spread his hands in a gesture of nonchalance. "After all, you are the one who bound me with an oath."

"Asshole."

"And this is the 'savior-of-the-wizarding-world.' Pathetic."

"So where is Draco's apartment?" Saying the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"I thought you two were partners. Shouldn't you know already?"

"Fucking hell. This is important. I need to find Hermione, I have information for her, and you are standing here stalling me. What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem? My dear mister Potter. My problem is with arrogant upstarts who think they can lord it over me. You may have won the war, but I still have all the money, connections, and knowledge. My problem is with my son and the oath he swore. And the oath you made me swear. My problem is with the arrogance and ignorance of youth. Think you know better than your elders. Think you can run off half cocked, hyping yourselves with drugs, and worse. My problem is that my son has bound himself to a heedless bitch who with each second she lives, hastens his death. My problem is with the lot of you and the fact that you all seem hell bent on destroying my family. And I will not stand for it."

"Get a grip." Harry had withstood worse tantrums from both Ron and Ginny, and doubtless would receive worse tonight for coming home late. Hell, one could argue that the tantrum he'd thrown in front of Luna this afternoon was worse than this. Lucius simply no longer held the terror for him that he once had. Perhaps it was the slight stoop that age and Azkaban had left him with, or the silver of his hair that made him seem a tired old man raging futilely against the generation gap the way parents had for thousands of years. The man probably didn't even know how to be happy. "Just because they're keeping you in the dark, doesn't mean they don't have their reasons. You can rant all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that Hermione has a plan. She always has a plan. And I can certainly see why she wouldn't want to stay here under your thumb, seeing as you seem as like to murder her in her sleep as join our cause."

"You forget." Lucius ground out, as if it pained him, "That I don't even know what your cause is, you self-righteous little prick."

"And you're not going to, not in this cursed house." Harry shot back, "Now, if you're done wasting my time, I have to find my friends."

"Friends? Hah. My son would never stoop so low, and Granger is just using you."

Harry refused to let Malfoy see that his jibe had hit its target and he rudely turned his back, stepping once more into the floo from whence he'd come, and disappearing in a haze of smoke and ashes.

"Hermione? Anybody home?" Harry poked his head into Hermione's flat. At least this time he could get in, having set the wards himself the other night. "Oh fuck." He'd forgotten Hermione's cat, sitting in the middle of the room looking forlorn and hungry. "Sorry, puss, guess your mom's not come back here either, nor that nasty Malfoy, eh? Let's get you some food. Don't suppose you know where she's gone off to now do you? Your uncle Harry could really use some help right now."

"Talking to a cat? Has the stress finally driven you off the deep end?"

"Gah! Malfoy!" Harry startled violently, "Where the fuck did you come from?"

"The door was open, Potter. Get a grip. And learn to shut the door behind you."

"Where's Hermione, where have you two been? I need to talk to her right now!"

"You make me tired just looking at you." Draco sighed, dragging a weary hand over his bloodshot eyes. "Seriously, Potter, can it please, please wait until tomorrow? And besides, shouldn't you be home with the little missus?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy, My marriage may as well be dead, not like you care, but at least I have my priorities straight. Remember, saving the goddamned world? Something you swore to do?"

"No Potter." Draco enunciated slowly and clearly, as if lecturing to a small child. "The oath I swore was not to save the world, but to help Granger save the world. To do that, first, one must save Granger. Which, if you were less of an idiot, you might have realized sooner. You let my father take us home. To Malfoy Manor. You moron. Do you know how unhealthy the house alone is to muggleborns? Did you not realize that letting father take us home the other night could have sapped more strength than either of us had left to give? Not to mention the fact that once my parents figured out exactly what sort of spell bound Granger's life to mine they immediately started trying to figure out ways to kill her? Do you know what would have happened had mother been slightly more clever? Or had I remained unconscious for a few more hours? We'd be royally fucked. Or rather, you'd be fucked 'cause Granger and I would have both been dead. And then where would you be? So take a deep breath, go home and take care of your little bitch-wife, and come back tomorrow, 'cause I need a drink before I can take any more drama."

Harry blinked in astonishment, never having been bitched out by Malfoy quite like this before. For the first time, he took in Malfoy's rumpled clothes, the grey pallor to his normally alabaster skin, and the burst capillaries in his sclerae.

Harry clenched his eyes closed, took a deep breath and forced out an apology. But only because Malfoy looked close to the breaking point, and he'd probably deny later having apologized, if anyone were to ask. . . But seriously, was it too much to ask to be in the loop, just once? "OK, Malfoy. I'm going to trust you on this. But I'm not kidding, this is important. I think I have a lead on who is behind the pumpkin amnesia, but I just don't know enough history to figure out the details. I know your life is even more screwed than mine is right now, but try to remember, we're all in this together. I'm trying to help just as much as you are, even if you two are still keeping secrets. I'm at my wits' end, and so are you. So I'm not going to have a screaming match right now. I'm not even going to ask why you're here and not my best friend. Just remember, we need each other now, like it or not, so don't take out your angst on me."

"Granger died this afternoon." So quiet, so deadpan, Harry barely heard it. And even then, he didn't quite believe.

"If she hadn't done it to herself, mother almost certainly would have found a way. One that wouldn't have ended as well. She's insane, you know. Granger, I mean, not mother." Draco sighed tiredly, "I mean, really. What sort of maniac plans for a situation in which they are certain to die. And that's the best possible outcome." Harry was still too speechless to respond to this disastrous news; all he could do was gape like a drowning fish as Malfoy continued, "I did CPR. You know, what sort of world is it we live in when Muggle technology can return the dead to life when Magic fails? Dead is dead, right? Only, not to muggles."

OK, this was getting really creepy. Harry figured Malfoy must finally be going into shock. This was only confirmed when the other man sank heavily into Hermione's dilapidated couch and began to pet the cat.

"She's in the hospital now; she sent me here to get skele-gro. She acts like everything is going to be ok now. Do you really think it can be that simple? I can't feel her anymore. I can breathe now without choking on her breaths, but it still feels like she's dead. Do you know what it feels like to feel someone's ribs cracking under your hands? I'm a businessman, Potter; I barely survived the war, didn't think I was going to get out of Azkaban with my sanity intact. Maybe this is all a bad dream, maybe I did lose my mind. Sure I was bored, but I never asked for this. I fucking felt her die and it was horrible. And then I brought her back and it was disturbing and gross, and it fucking worked. Look at us Potter, do wizards really deserve to survive? Maybe our enemy who or whatever it is, is right. Maybe we should be allowed to die out, Magic killed Granger, but technology brought her back. I use a fucking cell phone, and a computer, and I know several hundred dark curses, hexes and various disturbing things that magic can do. Tell me, what's the point of us?"

"Oh gods." Harry muttered. Now was not the time for a Malfoy breakdown; not when he himself was barely holding himself together. Merlin only knew which of them was really closer to losing their marbles all over the place. Hysterically, he wondered if slapping Malfoy in the face like people so often did in those Muggle soap operas aunt Petunia used to watch would help matters any. On second thought, maybe he should slap himself in the face as well. Yeah. No thanks.

"Tell you what Malfoy. Let's make a date. Tomorrow. You. Me. Hermione, and a bottle of single malt – the muggle way. We'll all have a little melt down together. It'll be a bonding experience. Maybe make it a sleepover and spill all our dirty secrets. You know. The ones requiring the heavy duty wards. Wards, booze, secrets. And then the meltdown. It'll be great."

"Can we call ourselves the golden trio afterwards? Maybe you could braid my hair?" Draco taunted.

"Screw you Malfoy. Just be here, and bring booze. Leave your father at home this time though."

"Only if you leave the wifey behind."

"Sure. If I still have a wife."

Wasn't much Draco could say to that, so instead he stood and went to go search for the skele-gro, while Harry, left to his own devices, shrugged, sighed, and mentally prepared to do battle with the shrew he'd married.

Going home was every bit as painful as he'd imagined. No. today simply was not Harry Potter's day. Shrill accusations and hexes flying from Gin's lips. Why oh why did all the Weasleys have to be so proficient at hexing? Was it genetic or just the product of growing up with too many siblings in too small a house? Finally, Harry had had enough.

"Shut it Gin." He rarely bothered to raise his voice to his wife, preferring to use avoidance and passive aggression to deal with her attacks. "When was the last time we were happy? Why do you stay with me, when you don't like the choices I've made? You can't change me. I will never cheat on you. Have never cheated on you. But what I do in my time is my business. If I say it's necessary then it is. You don't have to stay at home and wait for me. We can hire a nanny for the kids. What would make you happy? If you can think of something, then go do it, what are you waiting for. Stop blaming me for everything. We made this life together. And obviously we went about it wrong. I'm never going to be big on politics, I'm never going to be thrilled to get dressed up and go to Galas and Balls and schmooze with people. I don't care about status or money. I like my career. I know you want all those things. And fine, we have the money. If you have a use for it, then go ahead, buy whatever dresses you want. Go to all the ministry Galas. Hell, why don't you go into politics? Why have you invested your dreams in me, when I never wanted any of them?

Because, and this I swear is true, Gin. Something has to give. Now, I'm going to go pack my suitcase, and I'm going to move out for a while. And when you've decided what it is you want from life, and what it is you think you want from me, then we'll talk. But right now, right now I can't take any more of this. I can't even tell any more if I still love you, or why I married you. So I'm done."

"Harry. . ." Ginny suddenly looked lost, as though her world was falling apart. And really, Harry supposed, it kindof was.

"I'm sorry Gin, I really am. I'm sorry for everything."

It was as if all the fight had been taken out of her, as if she'd finally seen the truth, and admitted to herself, what she'd secretly known for quite some time – you couldn't hold on to childhood dreams. Not against the harsh winds of reality. The dream, it had been instilled into her by her mother. To marry the great Harry Potter, become the lady of a great and noble house, raise their kids to the highest echelon of society. Perhaps aid her husband into becoming minister, throw the best soirees in all of Britain. It was just a dream that drifted farther away with every passing year. And what an outdated clichéd dream it had been at that. A modern fairy tale – sure – for the 1950s.

She couldn't even remember any more what she had really wanted for herself, before she absorbed her mother's dream, Before. . . before this, before everything.

Ginny watched silently as Harry packed his bag and slipped quietly through the front door. Without Harry, what was she? Who was she?

Right now? She was a lonely woman with a couple of babies asleep upstairs.

Hours later, there she remained, with her head in her hands, weeping silently for what was and what had never been.

TBC. . .

-yes yes, short chapter. Also late. But hell, I have been so totally unmotivated and writers blocky. And of course moving across the country and new job have been rather preoccupying. I just can't seem to get the words out. Ggah! So here's some craptastic update, just to get it off my computer.


	20. Chapter 20

The next evening, Harry Potter let himself into Hermione's apartment, expecting to find his invalid friend recuperating quietly. Instead, what he found more resembled the tail end of a drinking party.

"You should have seen her face, Granger. I swear there was a rat spleen in her hair, and I don't know what it was, but something disgusting and slimy and still wiggling on her sleeve. So, she's glaring at me, her hands on her hips, and says "You mean I spent all day slaving over a hot cauldron for you, and you didn't even think to call? I broke a nail!"

"Ah! Oh fuck, it hurts to laugh, damnit Malfoy!"

"Oh, Hi Harry!" Hermione looked up from where she sprawled gracelessly on the couch, a happily purring cat in her lap, "Malfoy was just telling me about his visit home today."

"Yeah, mother was none too pleased, "What do you mean, she already offed herself? Now what am I supposed to do with this?""

"Your mother does not talk like that!"

"Close enough." Draco waved a dismissive hand. "Potter, you're late. Have a drink."

"I can see I have some catching up to do." Harry eyed Hermione appraisingly, "Just how much has she had already?"

"It's the painkillers, don't worry, Harry, I'm fine."

"Didn't you get the skele-gro?"

"Turns out I still don't have enough juice to heal up fully yet." Hermione shrugged, then winced. "Oops. Just a few hairline fractures, at least I can mostly breathe ok now."

"Don't worry about Granger, she's tough."

"How can I not worry? What was your mother brewing anyway?"

"She called it her secret recipe. I call it poison. It was meant for Granger, to take care of our little problem."

"Scary. I can't decide whether to be grateful or not that you take more after your father."

"You think so? Thanks!"

"Now I really need a drink."

"I brought this from the mansion, wanna try?"

"Mother's secret recipe? No thanks."

"I can see the headlines now. 'Narcissa Malfoy changes her mind: kills Boy Who Lived.'"

"Father always claimed the Black girls were known for flightiness."

"Does this mean she will or she won't try to kill me the next time we see her?"

"Should be fine. I explained what you did, we'll see if she believes me, she's going to be watching like a hawk to make sure we're still not suffering any side effects."

"Great. Can't wait. More side effects." Harry muttered under his breath.

"Can't be that bad, Harry," Hermione soothed, "I mean, I only owe Draco, what, like two, or is it three life debts now?"

"Oh, and I know just how I'm going to cash in on that windfall, you bet."

"Shh… Harry's looking a little green over there."

"Serves him right. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"I really think he needs another drink."

"I can hear you, you know. Stop talking like I'm not in the room."

"Ooh. I know just the thing!"

Harry quirked a confused eyebrow at Malfoy as Hermione gracelessly dumped the cat off her lap and stumbled to her feet with a wince. ". . .Fucking ribs. Fucking brute force. . ." The boys' confusion only deepened at the sounds soon emanating from the kitchen; banging, thuds, suddenly broken glass, and cursing.

"Geez, Potter, you and Weasel teach her those words?"

"Don't look at me, Malfoy. She used to hex us back in school if we so much as took Merlin's name in vain."

"Oy! No fair talking while I'm out of the room."

"Pouting?" Harry mouthed silently at Malfoy, his confusion at Hermione's behavior mirrored in the other man's helpless shrug.

"I saw that!" Hermione glared first at one and then the other. "I told you already, didn't I? Pain meds. Plus a few G+T's . Maybe. But now it's time for shots. Tequila shots! See! I found the good stuff! Knew I had it somewhere."

"Granger. . . Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Oh come on, Malfoy, don't be such a party-pooper. We're celebrating!"

"What exactly, are we celebrating?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Oh, you know, surviving death, making the world a better place to live. Being the most brilliantest magical-est environmentalists in the UK? And, oh yeah, not getting poisoned or hexed by Malfoy's parents, either of them."

"I'll drink to that." Draco snorted, which was not at all what Harry had expected. When had he and Hermione become friends? And how hadn't Harry noticed?

"Don't worry Harry," Hermione almost seemed to read his mind, as she reached over and patted his hand reassuringly, "We often can't see what's right in front of our eyes." Indeed. Harry didn't notice the significant flick of her eyes that had Malfoy shifting in his seat ever so slightly. "Ready?"

"Count of three, yeah?"

"Of course. Cheers!"

The sudden awful taste exploding in Harry's mouth sent him into a sudden coughing fit. "What the Fuck?" Hermione and Draco however, seemed to swallow their shots with much more equanimity. And a notable lack of surprise. Harry was still coughing, with tears in his eyes, when he felt the tingle of a strong spell being cast.

"Sorry, Harry." Hermione murmured absently, while digging deep into the couch cushions. "Aha!" Harry didn't recognize the muggle device in her hands, but he did know enough to recognize that a green LED flashing on after a few moments was probably a good thing. "We good?" The last, directed at Malfoy, was met with a curt nod.

"No tampering on the wards. Nothing larger than a mouse in the walls, and no muggle bugs. I'd say we're clear."

". . . Wait, that was sober-up potion."

"Duh."

"You keep that in a tequila bottle."

"Yup."

"That's . . . that's. . . I wasn't even drunk!"

"But we were, and now we're not. Alas." Malfoy sighed, "So, Potter, now why don't you tell us whatever it was you learned yesterday that had you so desperate to find us that you braved my parents' house."

Harry sighed, shrugged, and tossed up a few more wards of his own, just in case. "So what can you tell me about house elves?"

"What do you mean, what can I tell you?" Draco wrinkled his nose, "they've been bound to servitude forever. Live to serve. Die if released. Every family that's worth its shit has some. Loyal, masochistic, ugly as all fuck." He paused, blinked, "Wait, you can't seriously be suggesting what I think you are? Didn't you learn anything from Granger's little VOMIT nonsense back in the day?"

"It was SPEW." Hermione sniffed, "Those poor creatures. Being forced to work for jerks like you."

"But that's just the point." Draco protested. "They live to serve. They can't _not_ serve. It's how they are. Can't hurt their family, follow orders."

"Enslaved."

"Stop it. Both of you." Harry interrupted. "You're missing the point. Hermione, when were the first house elves, bound? How were they bound? And who did it? You must have researched them extensively when you were doing your SPEW thing. Malfoy, don't the Purebloods have histories of these sorts of things? I thought they were all so afraid of change they must have records of how the current system came to be?"

"What, Potter, didn't you try the library before coming here?"

"But that's just it Malfoy. It was never mentioned in the history of magic class in Hogwarts. The histories in the library only make the barest mention of house elves. I mean, even chickens get more credit. So where did they come from?"

"Potter, you can't seriously believe house elves are trying to kill off humanity. They physically can't harm us. To do so would be to hurt themselves. And if all magical human died, then who would they serve? No one! It would be suicide- they would waste away."

"Tell that to Dobby. Or Kreacher." Harry muttered. "They managed to get away with plenty considered anathema for house elves." More loudly. "Come on Hermione, what do you know?"

Hermione was sitting stock still on the couch, eyes squeezed tightly shut in concentration. "Nothing, apparently, nothing. A few modern treatises on house elves as status symbols, and a few reformers who really seemed envious of those who had them. No one really seemed to care much about elves themselves. I remember mentions of house elves in Europe in the late middle ages, often used as court jesters with bells tied on their ears. I thought I once remembered something about elves and one of the goblin wars, but as for which one? But when they first appeared? Did we domesticate them like dogs or horses? On which continent? Did they evolve with us? I have no bloody clue." And that, obviously bothered her.

"I'm telling you Potter, you've lost it." Draco shook his head. "My nanny was a house elf. Hell, all the purebloods we went to school with were raised by their house elves. If they wanted to harm us, it would have been easy."

"You're missing the point." Harry sighed, and visibly restrained himself from making a snarky comment about Malfoy's nanny dropping him, and all the other inbred purebloods on their heads one too many times. "My point is this, where did they come from. House elves are very explicitly named _house_ elves. So, what other kinds of elves are there? Field elves? Barn elves? Muggle fairy tales tell of wood elves and mountain elves, so come on, where are they? And more to the point, what sort of revenge might they want for the enslavement and degradation of their cousins?"

"You've lost it, Potter." Draco jeered.

"He might have a point." Hermione mused thoughtfully, as she chewed her lip in deliberation. "It is awfully suspicious that none of us knows the origins of the species. . . I should do some research . . . After all, house elves do most of the manual labor on pumpkin farms, it's not beyond reason to think that some sort of infiltration. . . possibly a cell structure? It would have to be a very long game. . . but why not a more direct attack? Why something so subtle? It would have to be a very small group? Or very weak in some way. How does house elf magic work anyway? Ooh, I need to hit the books."

"You've got enough to do as it is, don't worry about it. Luna's already looking into it for me." Harry blurted. "Oh shit!" And now there was nothing left to but wince at the impending storm unfolding.

Across the room, Hermione's eyes were widening in shock and fury. Even a deep breath and a count to 10 couldn't save Harry from the truly righteous blast of indignation that erupted from her, "You told who, what!"

So maybe it hadn't been the best of times to spring on Hermione the fact that he'd involved others in their plotting. Even his protestations that Luna already knew about the population problems, and Neville had proven his trustwortiness in the past, and. . .

"So, Harry, Just how many people actually are in on the secret now?"

. . .and, a little while later, "You don't think someone, or some thing, perhaps is going to get suspicious at the growing number, and patently _nonrandom_ elect group of people suddenly allergic to pumpkin juice?"

"But Hermione. . ."

Privately, Draco agreed with Potter, they had had to bring in more people eventually, especially to counteract whatever effects having his father on board were bound to bring. And wasn't that a headache all in and of itself? But more importantly, the more they worked, the more complex their problems became. And what sort of megalomaniac was Hermione that she had kept all this to herself for fourteen years, as if she alone could handle it? Gods above, his head was killing him to even tackle one of their problem. Clean the environment, combat population decline, antidote to pumpkin juice. Find the culprit, undermine the secrecy act, save the world. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Hermione Granger was a complete and utter nutcase, so what did that make him, for almost being willing to believe they could do it?

With a silent snort at his own folly, Draco settled back to watch Potter and Granger fight. No way in hell was he getting involved in their spat. Potter had done the right thing, but it went against every thing in him to say so. Besides, watching Granger try to yell without inhaling deeply enough to strain her injured ribs was fucking hilarious.

Yeah, maybe he should have another drink. Sit back, have some popcorn and watch the Granger Potter show. After all, the night was still young.

…

TBC

:: yes yes, I know, I'm a horrible updater, and this is short. And the plot is slow. And this chapter is all dialogue. And there's no romance. Waah waah waah. But the writer's block isn't getting any better. And inertia and lethargy are taking over my life. I suck. Deal with it. Maybe there will be action next time. Maybe not. Maybe there won't be a next time. Maybe there will. Life is mysterious like that. I've become the kind of author I hate (see 'I suck' above).


	21. Chapter 21

"Thank you all for coming tonight. I'm sure you have many questions, and I regret to say that I will be able to answer very few of them. I know a few of you are completely in the dark, and came here as an act of faith. Hopefully at least, I can shed some light on why we are all gathered here. But again, I doubt that any of you will leave entirely satisfied. Nevertheless, I will do my best to tell the full truth as we have learned it thus far.

"Each of you have already sworn an unbreakable oath, or signed an unbreakable confidentiality agreement similar to a fidelis charm, that will not allow you speak of tonight's events to anyone unless certain circumstances permit, including, but not limited to casting the appropriate wards before speaking. Please realize that this is deadly serious, not only in order to safeguard your life, but those of everyone else in this room, as well as the rest of the wizarding world.

"Before I get down to the specifics of what we are all about, I'd like to start off with a history lesson, so please bear with me. Look around the room, and you will notice that all of us present have fought in the last wizarding war, some of us on one side, and a few from the other. Several even fought in the previous war. Every few decades, the wizarding world erupts in catastrophic violence, usually led by a charismatic and utterly insane wizard. What lessons can we learn from these disasters? When most of us were in school, the sorting hat would have had us believe that the lesson was unity. As the saying goes, "United we stand, Divided we fall." That's a good lesson, one which we, as in wizarding-kind, continue to fail to learn, time and again. Our deepest divide, wizarding born vs. muggle-born continues to persist even to this day. There are reasons for it. Some say it's racism, but that is oversimplification. Look around at wizarding society. We have been trapped in the vestiges of the 19th century for over a hundred years. And why is that? Because the overarching culture is created by those who are born and bred to it, natural conservatives, who created the secrecy act to prevent their destruction by fearful, ignorant muggles of the dark ages. These pure bloods and some half bloods are brought up from birth to understand the magical world, the culture, the hierarchy, and their place in it. But what of muggle borns? We are ignorant of the entire society and our place in it, until age 11, when suddenly we are told that we must abandon everything we know and start an alien life, in an alien culture. The purebloods react to these aliens in their midst with reactionary conservativism, trying to protect their institution from the foreign invaders that perpetually pop up. Whereas the muggleborns fight to find their place, unable to comfortably return to the world from whence they came, their education completely inadequate to allow them to function in the muggle world, yet never entirely comfortable in the trappings of the magical, and never accepted into its hierarchy. Is it any wonder that Tom Riddle was pushed to the breaking point? Is it any wonder that magical/muggle relations festered and erupted in violence? Is it any wonder, that in contemplating the disparities and contradictions of our world such otherwise brilliant men such as Grindelwald and Dumbledore lost their minds? No my friends, it is not.

"So, let's talk about the last war. Why did one side win, and the other lose? Old Snakeface's team had the home field advantage; ability to call upon large reserves of disgruntled purebloods, fearful of the loss of their way of life as their numbers declined in comparison to that of muggleborns and halfbloods. Money, large numbers of supporters in the ministry itself, willingness to use terror tactics and engage the darker side of society. Old Twinkletoes' side also had adequate money, supporters in law enforcement, and, well. Fuck it. Old Twinkletoes' side had shit going for it; a mad, paranoid, secretive leader, and a core that was at best, a vigilante social club. There was no structural organization per se, and no plan for maintaining peace and order in the country. A leader who refused to lead is not worth much. Oh, and old Snakeface? Also a secretive paranoid madman, but at least he had an organization and a plan.

"Again, so why did one side win and the other lose? When I was younger I thought it was sheer dumb luck. Sheer dumb luck had won the first war after all, when some dumb homemaker spell of Lily's that never should have worked at all recoiled on Snakeface and knocked him for a loop for a decade. So when the second war came around, what was the plan from Twinkletoes? Oh yeah, create a martyr who will willingly die for the cause. OK, fine, that part is not so hard, muggle terrorist groups train suicide bombers all the bloody time. But of course, Dumbles fucked that up too. His so-called plan involved never telling anyone anything, especially about the most important thing of all- the scattered pieces of Snakey's soul that had to be destroyed before we could off the scaly freak. And let's not forget the fiasco with the elder wand; any plan that relies on the right people ending up in mastery of a specific piece of wood at a specific time, in a bloody warfare situation is insanely stupid. Oh, and finally, fighting a war using school children in a country full of able-bodied adults? So not cool. Only the most amazing luck could have resulted in any part of the sugar-fiend's so called plan actually working.

"But then I realized, that no, while luck was absolutely huge, what really won the war was that certain people were simply pushed too far. Everyone has a breaking point, and not realizing this was Voldies' greatest weakness. We could have figured out the horcruxes on our own, and even the nonsense with the deathly hallows based on the shit that Dumbles left us, but no way could we have done any of the rest of it were it not that certain people were pushed too far. And then they fought back. Number 1: Snape, a spy for Dumbles for years and years, pushed by Voldie to the breaking point when he went after the woman Snape was obsessed with, Without Snape's critical information, the order of the phoenix would have been even more of a complete waste of air and space. Moreover, it was Snape's protection and running interference when he was headmaster that protected the children and allowed them to re-form the DA, so they were capable not only of fighting in the battle of Hogwarts, but surviving said battle as well. So that's 1. Number 2, Draco Malfoy. Yes you. Snakeface seriously didn't understand people at all. He thought that everyone could be controlled by fear or money. Your family obviously didn't need money, but by making you complicit in the torture and murder of others, he thought he could force your obedience. Yeah, not so much. I remember how you were unwilling to turn us in when the snatchers caught us. And I heard how you treated the prisoners in the dungeon when no one else was around. You allowed the prisoners to escape, when you could have stopped it. If we'd died in Malfoy Manor, that would have been that. But you didn't let that happen, all because you'd had enough. And 3. Narcissa Malfoy. You managed to put up with Snakeface and the effects he had on your husband all through the first war, but the second time 'round, it was so much worse, wasn't it? Because this time, your son was also entrapped, and you saw how it was destroying him. That was your breaking point. More so than the use of your home as his personal torture chamber and revel-central, it was the harm to your family that pushed you to the edge. And so you acted, at the battle of Hogwarts. Without you, Harry would not have been able to kill Voldie. Let' s not forget too, all the other DeathEaters who must have been pushed to their own personal brinks as well, who fought when Snakeface was alive, but who promptly threw down their wands the second they were convinced he was dead.

"So yes, the lessons tonight are about three things, Luck, Unity, breaking point. Everything and everyone has a breaking point. When it is reached, they will snap. And then they will fight back. We are here tonight, old friends and old enemies, in the spirit of unity. Because we are now engaged in a slow race against time, a battle for the survival of all wizarding kind. An enemy as yet unseen, forgotten by the ages, engaged in a very long game. It was only by sheer luck that we learned of the threats (and, yes, they are multiple), to our existence. We will tell you of these threats shortly, and I hope you have all undergone the washout period Harry told you about beforehand, otherwise, this whole exercise will have been a waste o f your time.

"But first, I wish to remind you of one final threat that I have nor yet spoken of. This does relate to all my themes tonight. Muggles, Muggles have been killed in all of our wars, from Merlin's day to Grindelwald to Voldie's return, They are killed by the dozens, by the hundreds. The cover-up to hide our existence from muggles is stretched thinner each and every time we kill another one of them in circumstances difficult to explain. Sooner or later they will figure it out, or else the authorities themselves will snap. They will reach their breaking point, and they will destroy us completely. Trust me, they can. Magic is wonderful, but never underestimate their weapons and their will. We are a threat to them, an alien threat possessed of powers they can never have. They will be right to be afraid of us, to hunt us down and kill us. We must not allow this to happen. We must reach out and bridge the gap between our cultures. We must convince them we can live with them, that their laws apply to us, and ours to them. That we have something of value to them, just as they have things of value to us. We must end the secrecy, For only unity will prevent our extinction.

Our work is cut out for us, I want you to think on all that is said here tonight and decide – can you work with your past enemies? Can you disrupt your life for a dangerous and secret enterprise? Are you willing to risk everything for an uncertain and perilous future? If the answer is yes, we will be happy to have you, and if the answer is no, then go with our good wishes, have a glass of pumpkin juice before you leave this room, and your life will return to normal. We won't blame you in the slightest.

"And now, Harry will explain to you all we know about the pumpkin juice, followed by Luna to talk about our impending extinction and our theories on the suspect behind it. We will wrap up with Draco Malfoy to speak on the various dangers posed by muggles to the magical world, and what we propose to do about this.

"Thank you."

~~~~~.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o~~~~~~~~

"Well, that went surprisingly well."

"I guess you of all people, would have to be an optimist."

"None of the hexes landed. That's something to be thankful for."

"If they had, your stupid Gryffindor friends would be in a world of hurt right now."

"Seriously, though. How many years has it been? Why do they all have to still be acting like little children? Haven't they learned _anything? _

"Asks the woman stamping her foot like a 2 year old."

"Touche."

"Moreover, have you forgotten already how you acted the day I first walked into your office?"

"Ouch. Damnit Malfoy, stop being right."

"You know you love it."

"Conceited arse."

"Oh god." Harry rubbed his forehead in disbelief. "I know you two are pleased with yourselves, but can you please save the flirtation for after Luna and I have gone home?"

"But I was quite enjoying the byplay." Luna poked her head out of the kitchen and spoke up for the first time, "Did you know that you have an infestation of prongtoed fugs under the sink?"

"I'm not surprised. It would explain why my drain cleaner keeps vanishing." Hermione sighed with a straight face.

"Alright, can we please call this meta session to order?" Harry whined.

"Fine. Spoilsport."

"Wanker"

"Boys! Hush. Do you think this meeting was a success?"

"My father thinks you're insane. But he admires your ambition, if not your ultimate goals. He and mother are also deeply displeased about the oath you made them swear."

"The Muggle-borns were freaked to see the Malfoys there. The former order members were upset at your takedown of Dumbledore, and well, who else is there?"

"I thought it was very informative." Luna spoke quietly, "Neville is in, but you knew that already, didn't you? George is in, but only if you bring in more Weasleys. The Ravenclaws need to run the math for themselves. But you could tell. No one outright thought our conclusions were wrong."

"They didn't like the bit about the Pumpkin Juice."

"Neither did you."

"Point taken. So how do you propose we proceed from here?"

"Luna has drawn up a few notes on the skills of each new recruit and how each can be used to best advantage, As you can see, not only does the recruitment of George give us a new outlet for the merger of magic/muggle technology, but also will allow us to exploit his research on charms for adapting some of my own inventions to work using less magical input. Ms. Whitten, Wendy is an up and coming journalist who can help us add our own slant on news items reported in the Prophet. Draco and I intend for her to cover our soon to occur clash in the ministry, while Andie Fuller and Sarah Mitcham, we expect will prove useful to guide the wording of the bill we are trying to see passed. Everyone knows that the aides are the ones who do all the real work anyway while department heads just reap the credit."

"What a horrible place."

"Ah, but Potter, it has always been a haven to those with money, so easy to grease the wheels of government. Only ill-bred peons like you cannot appreciate the beauty of such a system."

"I really hate you, Malfoy."

~~~~~~~~.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o~~~~~~~~~

"Someone's going to get killed."

"Oh Lucius, haven't we had enough bloodshed for two lifetimes?"

"Asks the woman who was just brewing a lethal potion for Draco's girlfriend last week."

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy! There are so many things wrong with that statement I don't even know where to begin."

". . . One of the Ravenclaws, I think."

"Probably that Whitten girl." Narcissa sighed with regret, finally acknowledging her husbands words.

"Yes. She did have the look." Typical Ravenclaw, only satisfied when they've fully understood a problem from all possible angles, heedless of the consequences. Heedless of who took note of their quest. To such as she, the answer was all; discretion instantly forgotten in the search for knowledge. Even Gryffindors sometimes admitted that actions had consequences, before they actively chose to disregard them.

"We will have to watch her. Discretely, of course."

"Of course. The how of it will prove most enlightening."

"Shall I speak to Draco?"

"I don't think that will be necessary." At Narcissa's questioning look, he continued. "You don't think it just a little odd that the core of the group was Potter's cronies and us? Nary a Hufflepuff to be seen? But then, the young Ravenclaw neophytes?"

"The Lovegood girl. . . ."

"Oh yes. The Lovegood girl." Lucius smiled mirthlessly, the shadows in his eyes recalling the time she had spent as their involuntary guest. "More ruthless than I would have given her credit for. I'm dead certain she recruited those three girls because they are expendable. And unconnected to her other little friends. What better way to test the enemy? I'd bet half our vault on the fact that Granger and Draco know what she's up to. Little sacrificial lambs. Because we have to know more."

"But Potter?"

"Probably hasn't got a clue." Lucius sniffed in disdain. It was probably a good thing for the Wizarding world that Granger was in charge of this insane venture. Potter had simply never had the stomach for the down and dirty of the real world. Hard to believe the sorting hat had ever considered Slytherinifying him. Granger, on the other hand, had thoroughly proven that she was willing to get her hands and soul dirty if that was what it took. Such a fascinating girl. No wonder his son seemed to spend more time in her company day by day. "Potter probably thinks Luna recruited her three little friends because one of them works for the Prophet and the other two as aides in the ministry. And sure, that will make them useful. But only if they can first prove as discreet as they are knowledge hungry."

"And what role do we play in this? We can hardly be seen to publicly support Draco's political forays." They both knew that would prove ultimately detrimental to the scheme. "And it's not as though we can recruit new bodies to the cabal." The oaths they'd sworn had seen to that. "Come to think of it. How is it that Draco was able to speak tonight? I was under the impression that she'd sworn him to an oath of secrecy?"

"Both good questions indeed, my dear." Lucius sank further back into his chair, "They didn't have a choice but to include me after I discovered that they were hiding something." He remembered that awkward night only too well, "Nor you, after you became aware of Granger's condition. So one might conclude they do not have a plan but to put the best face on it possible and pretend we were always meant to be involved. But, if truth be told, I strongly suspect that this rapid expansion of our new social club is not of Granger's doing. It reeks of Potter and his doe-eyed idealism. Ravenclaws aside, they are trying to build a family. Each of us with different skill sets, experience, outlook, but yet with a shared bond. You saved Potter's life, Draco saved Granger's and the rest of the Gryffindor children fall in line behind their leaders." He shook his head, "still, I suppose we can't be any more of an insane family than the phoenixes were." A resigned shrug. "As for Draco, I can only presume, she must have freed him from his oath." If only he could think of a way to exploit that for his own advantage. Or, better yet, learn exactly how she undid such a complex spell. They weren't called unbreakable oaths for nothing.

"Do you believe the stories they spun?" It had been a very clever patter, she'd give the Granger girl that. But they'd been blinkered by the best in their sordid past, and if the dark lord had taught Narcissa anything, it was to be skeptical about grand speeches and promises.

"I believe parts of it." Lucius responded judiciously. "I'm not convinced by their methods or their ultimate goals." He shuddered. In fact, it went against ever fiber of his being to even consider that that statute of secrecy might become obsolete in his lifetime. "But for now, we must bide our time. Stay alert for changes in the wind."

"I just worry about Draco. He works so hard. He hardly ever spends time at the Manor anymore. Maybe I should ask him to include some more of his friends in this new club?"

"Matchmaking, Cissy?"

"Expanding his options. It can't be good for him to spend so much time with that. . . woman. What about the Greengrass girls? They always seemed to have good heads on their shoulders."

"Good luck with that, dear. The eldest, Daphne, is dating the Bullstrode girl. And the younger. . . has changed since you last had them over for tea. Trust me, she would not be interested in the drudgery that Draco's new hobby entails."

"Oh well. It was just an idea." Narcissa sighed, "I think it is time to retire for the night? Coming?"

~~~~~~~~~.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o~~~~~~

"Oof. Alright 'Mione, I'm off for the night, gotta get home before the baby sitter kills the twins."

"Oh! Right, sorry Harry for keeping you here so late! Are you doing ok. . . what with, you know?"

"Ginny living at her parents' house? Yeah. It's actually a relief. I just wish. . . things had turned out differently."

"Well, you know, whatever you two decide to do, I'm behind you all the way." Hermione gave Harry a quick hug and peck on the cheek before showing him the door.

"Hermione."

"Oh Luna." Hermione winced as she turned to face the other woman. "I'm so sorry."

"It's ok, really." Luna put on a bright, albeit blatantly forced smile, "You know what I did and why. But please, please don't ever tell Harry. I don't want him to look at me differently."

"Whereas you know that Hermione would have done the exact same thing as you had she known the proper patsies." Draco interrupted. "Don't worry Lovegood, we're all in this together." Unspoken, the words, they all expected to burn in whatever hell might await for such as they.

"Acceptable sacrifices." Hermione muttered, as if to herself. "Harry would say there is no such thing."

"And that is why it is us three here now." Draco snorted. "Never thought I'd see the day when I'd say I'm glad it was you, Lovegood, who had it all figured out. But I am; you're just the ally we need." Everyone always had underestimated her, even he. Until that fateful day when he went down to the dungeons to find her slumped against the wall, her blond hair shining like a beacon, even in the half-lit gloom. He'd seen so many die in those dungeons, but she survived. Even though he knew she was not there merely to ensure her father's cooperation but because the Carrows had been afraid of her influence at school. Those dreamy eyes concealed a keen intelligence and a master strategist. A fact only confirmed when she went on to take over her father's paper, and, while continuing to turn out clever truths disguised as fantasy, slowly began buying up shares in the Prophet. Any day now, she'd become a majority stockholder through various paper fronts and dummy corporations; he couldn't wait to see what havoc she'd wreak on the publishing industry then.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "I just wish I had thought to come to you myself first. I'm so sorry, Luna for not bringing you into the loop until Harry did."

"It's quite alright, Hermione." Luna blinked, "I have the feeling that we're going to be great friends from here on out! It is, after all, iridescent tatterwing mating season. And you know what that means!"

"Indeed. Goodnight Luna. Until next time."

The door had hardly snicked shut when Draco was rising from his seat. "Well, I guess that's it for tonight then. Get some sleep Granger. We've got a busy week ahead of us."

"As if I could ever forget." Hermione sighed. "All work and no play." She rubbed a weary hand across her eyes. "Sometimes I wish I could sleep forever."

"Hmph." Draco snorted, quietly. "Come off it Granger, you and I both know you don't get more than five hours a night. The only one you're remotely fooling is Potter." Seriously though, later that night in the stillness of his own bed, lulled by the dark of night, and the quiet of his own breaths, he'd remember. Remember waking up to night terrors not his own. Gasping breaths, racing pulse, cold sweat. He remembered her routine. Even now, after they'd severed the connection that had bound them, the memory enough was all it took to set his pulse to pounding. Oh yes. He knew exactly how much sleep she got. Or didn't.

Somehow, it felt lonelier now without that connection. Annoying as it had been to constantly feel the tics and twitches of another life, the exhaustion and blurred vision of a maladapted system, it still. . . He'd felt closer to her than he'd ever felt to another woman. And he had to admit, he'd enjoyed torturing her at night, after the echoes of her sobs had woken him, by retaliating with his own elevated pulse, his own quickened breath, sweat sheened skin, as he'd wanked off. It had been titillating really, a secret exhibitionism. Never really certain if the link they'd shared would choose to transmit those moments or not, but always wondering if the tickle in his chest was the sensation of her blush. If the pants that fell from his lips were his own or hers. Fine. Yes, he could admit it. He was perhaps a bit of a pervert. But it had been so long. And. . . well, there really weren't very many good reasons for it when you put it quite like that. Oh well.

He missed her. The sensation of her 24/7. Pathetic. Embarrassing. He'd die of shame if he ever had to admit it. She could never know. They were co-conspirators, and that was it. If his heart had twisted just a little when she'd sat him down and painstakingly and carefully unwove the so-called unbreakable vow that bound him as her silent servant; severed another of the bonds they shared, well then that was a secret that would go with him to his grave. She'd made him, Potter, Lovegood co-captains in their endeavor, lamenting that they had no symbolic Hufflepuff. Equal. And free. If he so desired, to tell the world. Free to pervert their politicking at the Ministry to his own ends, not hers. And yet, here he stayed, not yet ready to admit that he envied her dream, yet not willing to deny her a hope of achieving it.

In his more lucid moments he worried he might care too much for her. In his dreams, she was there more often than not. Bleeding, or pale as the grave, shining scars and bony ribs. Bossy voice, night terrors and all. She must have known she didn't even need the oath to bind him anymore. He had already given her too much of himself to ever turn back now.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

"Right then. Time to get on with it." Hermione checked her reflection in the mirror, adjusting her jumper just so, as if testing the fit of her armor. "Come on girl, you can do this. You have to do this."

She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and set out for the nearest apparition point. Scant moments, and a brief stomach churning journey through the ether later, she found herself outside the comfortingly familiar outline of the Burrow. Though, at this juncture, she hardly felt comforted by the sight, given whom she was here to see.

"Oh well, No help for it." Hermione shook her head, laughing at herself. After facing Voldemort and the looming extinction of wizarding-kind, who was she to be nervous about facing Ginny, of all people. Decisively, then, she knocked on the door, to be met by the matronly flutterings of the aging Mrs. Weasley.

"Hermione! Dear, it's been too long! How are you? Oh, where are my manners, come in, come in! Tea? Scone? You look so thin, and pale. Are you sure you're eating all right? No? How about a nice mince pasty? No? Ah, you'll be wanting to see Ginny then. Poor dear! I can't believe Harry of all people would do this to her! I swear, I don't understand that boy, and after all we've done for him. My poor baby is broken hearted. And what of the twins? Oh, it's a right mess is what it is."

"How is she holding up?" Hermione managed to cut in when Molly finally took a breath.

"About as well as you could expect. That is to say not well at all. Oh, Hermione, do you know what happened? Ginny won't say a word. Just mopes around the house. I don't want to pry, only, she worries me so. I don't even know what to say. I sent Harry a howler, but well, she told me not to make a fuss of it all. And. . . ."

"Yes." Hermione laid her hand on Molly's arm in an attempt to silence the flood of words. "Harry told me. I thought I might be able to come and talk to her, maybe offer some support. And I had an idea, I thought might help to cheer Ginny up."

"Oh but of course! Don't let me keep you dearie, you just head right on up the stairs. You know the way by now, I daresay. Third door on the right. That's the one." She watched with the eagle eyes of an overprotective mother as the door cracked open and Hermione slipped inside. "What is the world coming to these days?" Unfortunately, the muffliato Hermione silently cast the second an irate and scowling Ginny greeted her prevented the Weasley matriarch from eavesdropping quite as she wished, and she was left to her own devices as the two younger women faced off.

"You have a lot of nerve! Just what do you think. . ."

"Not another word!" Hermione had no problem outglaring even Ginny. "Before you start accusing me, or saying anything you might regret later, I'm going to make this simple for you. I am not now, nor have I ever had an affair with your husband. Even if he were single, I would not have sex with Harry. He is like a brother to me. A brother. So don't even go there. Now then, let's start over. Hi Ginny. How are you?"

"What. But. . . What are you doing here? What is going on? What in hell is wrong with my husband? You know something, don't you? There's something going on. I can smell it. Is he seeing someone else?"

"Shhh. Shhh. Gin." Hermione shook her head sadly, "Let's sit down. Please?" cautiously, ever wary of being bat-bogied, or worse, she advanced into the room and settled slowly onto the end of the bed, watching as Ginny reluctantly turned to face her. "Ok, Gin. I know you're having a hard time right now. That's why I'm here. Firstly, I just want to say. Harry loves you. You have to know that. I know things are rough right now."

"Rough? Hah!" Ginny snorted, unsuccessfully trying to blink back her tears, "Did he talk to you? Did he tell you what he said? Someone's been sniffing after him. And if it wasn't you, you must know something."

"Gin. Please. Harry's not having an affair. He's been. . . helping me. . ."

"Helping you?" Ginny was clearly quite skeptical. "What about the secret looks you two exchange every time we're out. Don't think I didn't notice. There's something going on. Why else would he have left me? What are you two up to?"

"Uh." Hermione bit her lip, her face scrunched up as if in pain, and admitted slowly "I miscalculated. Badly. I thought I knew what it would take to run my own business. But I screwed up. Ginny, I exhausted my magic. I almost died. I've been in and out of the hospital for a while now. Harry's been helping me."

"The hospital?" Ginny shook her head impatiently. "I don't understand. It would have been all over the Prophet if you'd been admitted to St. Mungo's."

"I know." Hermione sighed, "I couldn't afford to go there. They would have found out. . . It would have ruined me Gin."

"What are you talking about?"

"They would have found out that the only reason I was even capable of walking through their doors was because I've been relying on a . . . particular potion. . . ."

"Hermione Jean Granger? Is my husband been supplying you with. . . .?"

"No, no! Harry would never! But he found. . . . what I was taking. . . in my cabinets, when he went to check on my cat, the first time I collapsed and got myself admitted to a muggle hospital."

"So," Ginny stated bluntly, "You, the greatest know-it-all of our time got yourself addicted to some sort of illegal, dark, magic-replenishing potion. Is that what you're trying to say?" Exactly the conclusion Hermione wanted her to come to. Hurrah for suspicious minds. A little bit of the truth is, and has always been, the best sort of lie.

"And Harry's been helping me with the detox. Yes." Hermione nearly whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I was just so ashamed! I mean. I can see it in your face, you think I'm a complete moron. And I know. I know. I thought I could handle it. But I just didn't realize how much magic I was using, how little I had left. How much worse the potion was making everything. So I asked Harry to keep it our secret. We fought over how much I'd been taking and. . . at first I didn't want to stop. Until I collapsed again. But now, he's been trying to find a potion to lessen the side effects of my condition, and I'm afraid I didn't realize how much that time was taking away from you. I'm so sorry Ginny!"

"That still doesn't explain why he left me." Ginny mused. "There has to be more to it than just a little misunderstanding."

Of course there was, and Ginny knew it. Hermione snorted silently to herself. Ginny just played dumb, but she was a clever girl. She knew there had to be more to why Hermione was here today.

"Yes. Gin. When Harry comes over to help me with my treatment. We talk. And I probably know more about your relationship than you'd want me to. But then I got to thinking. So, please. Let me get this out without interrupting or hexing me and then tell me if I'm right or if I'm totally off base on this. Okay?" A stiff, short nod from the tense redhead was her only answer, so she took a deep breath and began. "Look, I know things have been difficult between you and Harry for some time. He wanted a quiet life and a big family. And you wanted more. But your mother was on his side, and so you got pregnant. And then pregnant again. And you pretended to be happy to be the homemaker, taking care of the kids, because that was what you thought he wanted and it's what Molly wanted for you. Still, you and I both know that it's not what you wanted. Be honest, you were and are, frustrated and you take it out on Harry. The situation is not fair for either of you. You want to be in the spotlight, you need to shine. You want to show that a Weasley can be more than just a minor bureaucratic functionary. Harry just wants to hide from the uselessness of the fame he's been branded with, from a public that turns on its heroes in an eyeblink. But Gin, why do you have to rely on him to go out into the world and make your mark? You don't have to be a homemaker."

"Easy for you to say." Ginny remarked bitterly, "Have you met my Mum? Hell, have you looked around out society recently? The war didn't change things as much as you seem to think. Remember, you ran away to the muggle world while we were all rebuilding. Almost all our schoolmates got married and started spawning. The men are all doing manly things, while the girls are so busy trying to pop out brats that they can barely hold down a secretarial position. What makes you think I'd even be able to get a menial job, much less one where I can pursue my dreams?"

"Well, because first of all. I know you Ginny Potter. And I know you're not going to let the little things stand in your way. All you really need is a little bit of encouragement."

"Go on."

"I want to offer you a job. I find myself in need of a lobbyist at the ministry."

"Lobbyist?"

"Sorry, Muggle term. Someone who can grease the wheels a little. Attend the Ministry galas, throw balls. Rub shoulders with the correct people. Whisper into a few ears. Tell the right put downs at just the right time. Arrange the back room deals. Just like the Malfoys used to do in their heyday."

"What the hell, Hermione? Firstly, what do you need that for? What are you involved with. And secondly, what on earth makes you think that I could actually do that job?"

"Right. So, another funny story." Hermione quirked her lips in self-deprecation. "You know that I develop products for use by muggle industry. And you may know that as my products combine magical and muggle technology I have to get exemptions from your father's department in order to pursue my livelihood. But what you probably don't know, is that if anyone were to actually investigate what I am doing, despite the exemptions, I would undoubtedly be found to be in violation of several statutes of the Secrecy act. But, Ginny, what I am doing is really important! The laws are badly written. Outdated. Actively harming our society. I have additional products in development that could be equally important! But, unfortunately, I got caught.

"Who knew that Draco Malfoy of all people would own a muggle company. Who knew he'd just happen to be there the one day that I was demo-ing my equipment. And who knew that he would be blackmailing me to keep my secret? Yeah. Blackmail. The Malfoy way is alive and well. Fortunately, all he seems to care about these days is money, and he used his leverage to buy one of my other. . .products. . . at a deeply discounted rate, well below the market price. But I never know what he's going to demand next. And Gin, I'm worried." Anxiously Hermione watched Ginny's face change at this revelation. Nothing was guaranteed to set a Weasley off like a mention of Malfoy.

"He. . . What? Why that slimy little ferret!"

"Exactly." Hermione sighed again. "It's awful, Gin. I have to see him all the time as he gloats at having caught me red-handed, and decided what new concessions he can wring from me. I have to get out of this mess. But even if I were to destroy every single one of my installations, the damage is done. He already has the proof he needs to destroy my business, and worse, condemn me in the eyes of the Wizangamot. Violation of the secrecy act is treason. It'd be Azkaban for me."

"But Hermione. If everything is as bad as you say. Why do you think I can help?"

"Because Gin. There are several new bills being proposed in the Ministry. Even as he screws me over on my use of magic-muggle technology, Malfoy has seen the potential for profit if he expands his own empire. He is lobbying for a measure that lifts certain little minor clauses of the secrecy act, all so he can exploit them for his own greed. He is doing it all in the name of so called outreach. And doing his part to rehabilitate the Malfoy name by pushing for several little dinky resolutions about integrating and increasing muggle studies etc etc. But if you read the language in these bills closely enough, which I have, you can see it's all windowdressing. Pearls on swine. Pretending to change, while really just more of the same old status quo. Still, there's a silver lining. Not everyone on the Wizangamot trusts him. And many don't want to risk their image by associating with former Death-Eater scum. Gin, just think. It's the perfect opportunity to slip in an opposing bill, one that goes further, does more. Educates our children against blood bigotry, allows trade with muggles and improves our stagnant economy. All we have to do is get in there and provide a viable alternate to whatever Malfoy puts forth. And who better to be the face of the opposition than Ginny Weasley? Not only are you a decorated war heroine and wife to the man who offed Voldemort, but you are a concerned mother, who wants a safer world for her children than she endured. You are a pureblood, you're ever popular with our peers, and you're completely beautiful. You don't need Harry on your arm to make a splash. Girl, no matter what you do, you will knock 'em dead. And that is why I need you on my side. So please, Gin? Think about it? You know I can't do it on my own, I was never popular. I detest crowds, and I'm allergic to makeup. But, if you're willing to consider it, or at least consent too a test run, I've managed to score invites for the next Ministry ball, and I'd like you to come as my date. Just. Think about it. Please."

.i.i.i.i.i.i.i.i.i.i.i.i.i.

"So, G, How'd it go?"

"Here, have a drink."

"That well huh?"

"Let's see, how do you like lying to someone who used to be a good friend?"

"Umm. . . ."

"But hey! On the plus side, she now hates your slimy guts more than ever! So at least that's a win."

"Oh Granger, you crack me up." Draco snorted and took the proffered glass of wine.

"Yeah. I crack me up too. Right up the sides. At least we now have an excuse to be seen together, as long as we make sure to be full of the hate."

"Hate. Check. Think we can handle that. Grr, argh. Hate."

"You're not fooling anyone. You big softy."

"Just how much have you had to drink, Granger?"

"Enough that we're not talking strategy tonight. Malfoy. Sit and drink with me."

"But G, I wanted to talk about which Department heads and ministers you get and which are on my team!"

"Not tonight Malfoy. I just want to drink and feel sorry for myself. I'm a liar and a horrible friend and I need wine."

"Stupid woman. Is that what you did before you met me? Well I have just the solution. Look. Here's the dossiers on your guys, Damn but I love legilimancy! You'll laugh your ass off at some of these clowns. Just be glad you didn't have to rummage through their filthy, filthy brains. And here's your hardcore extremist version of the legislation in question. And for comparison's sake, the dossiers on my team, and my only slightly less hardcore extremist version of the legislation that I'm lobbying for. I can't wait to see how we blow their little minds. Support the big bad Draco Malfoy and get his lovely Galleons or vote your conscience, vote for the Weaslette bill. All shiny and wholesome and family love. No one will even dare to suggest something more conservative than my proposition. Those poor old fools aren't going to know what hit them."

"Malfoy, those poor old fools couldn't even see the Deatheaters coming the second time around. And those arseholes were a hell of a lot less subtle than we are."

"Hell yeah. I'll drink to that Granger."

"Glad you finally see it my way, Malfoy."

TBC

.i.i.i.i.i.i.i.i

Hells yeah, look at that. 2 updates in less than a month. Even if it is a short chapter. Yes, all because I hate my life. So you win. See. Ginny has some use after all. And Hermione probably drinks too much. Thanks for all your reviews!


	23. Chapter 23

~~there is a line or two in this chapter that some may find offensive. (outside of my usual excessive profanity). However, it is not intended to be derogatory/inflammatory and should not be taken as such. Sometimes, my two protagonists get a little too carried away with their extended metaphors. And Malfoy can be an insensitive git.~~

"Granger, no. You can't use a glamour."

"Malfoy, I look like hell."

"No. It's a sign of weakness."

"Malfoy. . ."

"Blood in the water, Granger. Sharks circling. You don't want that, do you?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy. Remember, when you walked into my office for the first time, what I looked like then? That, I'd like to point out, was before I lost an additional 10 pounds – before I died."

"Not relevant."

"What, you think looking like something the cat dragged in, ate in front of you, and then vomited back out again isn't a sign of weakness?"

"You're a war heroine. You can't look like you're hiding anything. You have to be the upright, brave one. Facing dangers untold, safeguarding Britain."

"I look like a war victim. How about cosmetics? I think I have some muggle cover-up stashed under the bed."

"No."

"War victim, Malfoy. Ever seen pictures of the Holocaust? The 'lucky ones'? The people that were rescued from the concentration camps? These gaunt, emaciated men and women. Big bleak eyes. They saw too much. They existed in an apocalyptic world, waiting to die. And then these happy allied soldiers came and freed them, said look it's all better now. But you know what? They still had nothing. All their friends were dead, their families ashes. Their homes occupied, their possessions stolen. That's what I'm going to remind people of. A dying war victim. An object of pity and horror."

"Well, you know what that got them? Israel."

"You really know how to cheer a girl up, don't you, Malfoy."

"I try?"

"Right. So, this bill is my Israel. Great. That's a metaphor for a mixed blessing if I ever I saw one."

"You're killing me, Granger. Who knew you were such a drama queen? Look, you look fine. No one expects you to be the most elegant lady in the room. No one there really knows you as anything other than a Muggleborn war-heroine and Potter's best bud. Weasley, that's Arthur, not the rest of his brood, is your connection to meet and greet the ministers, and you've got the Weaslette to be your smooth talking pretty face. All you have to do is look earnest, but not too scary. And whatever you do, don't sound like you did back in the bygone days of SPEW."

"Gee, thanks." Hermione replied drily, "I never would have thought of that one on my own. But none of this explains why I can't wear a glamour or at least a little makeup."

"We've been over this. You're the good guy, you can't look like you're hiding anything. Glamour = concealing = you've got something to hide. I'm the sneaky one, I'm allowed to hide, you are not."

"So, right, better to look like I'm a madman on the verge of death?"

"It's not that bad. No really. Besides, we have a confrontation planned where I get to play the big bad bully and throw my money around. It'll give you an excuse to play the innocent victim card."

"Yeah, right up until I unleash the hounds of war upon you."

"The Weaslette of war, you mean."

"Damned straight."

"Bring it."

-,-,-,..-.-.-.-,-,-,-..-.-.-,-.-,-.-,-.-,-.-,-

"And you must be Ms. Granger, I've heard such wonderful things about you."

'Thank you, Sir Wingit, may I introduce you to my associate Ginevra Weasley?"

"Charmed I'm sure. Any relation to Arthur?" As if the pompous old fool couldn't tell by the Weasley hair. Regardless, he was certainly enjoying hiss view of Ginny's ample cleavage while she polished up her flirtation skills. _Better__her__than__me_ Hermione thought with a small laugh as she made her excuses and slipped off to the powder room.

She was so glad that once she got Ginny into the groove of things she wouldn't have to come herself to the ministry as much in person. Just looking around the room – even if she hadn't read Draco's notes on everyone's dirty laundry – she was struck by the sense of complacency and greed all around her. It didn't matter that the administration changed. That wars were fought and won (or lost), but petty bureaucrats were forever. Some things never changed. That being the case, she wondered, how well her own little crusade would play out. On the one hand, predictability made for manipulatibility, on the other, institutionalized inertia was a weighty thing. Nevertheless, there had never been any option but to try. At least, now she had allies, which when she had first outlined this venture, she had not dreamed of.

Hermione checked her peripheral vision quickly. Yes, there, are on the far side of the room was that Ravenclaw friend of Luna's, the ingénue journalist covering this soiree; there approaching through the crowds was the ever-stylish scion of Malfoy, with that trademarked Malfoy sneer. That meant it must be time for their little act of confrontation. Time to look strong, and righteous, an underdog in the face of Malfoy Industry's bullying, just a lobbyist for a fairer world. Just a war heroine trying to make good, while evil monopolistic Malfoy industries bought laws that punished their competitors, hurt local industry. Yeah. Let that be what her drawn features were all about, the circles under her eyes. Just another idealist fighting the big bad corporations. _Three,__two,__one.__And__.__.__.__showtime._

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

To an outsider it would have seemed like a cold greeting, wary appraisal in each of their eyes. Perhaps a glimmer of triumph in Malfoy's, a hard determination in Granger's. Perhaps a trick of the light. The column in the Prophet tomorrow by Luna's acquaintance would be sure to play it up as some clash of the Titans, with plenty of references to their childhood animosity, Hermione's status as a war hero, Malfoy's as an ex-con Deatheater. Coldly polite, they each stuck to their lines. Insincere inquiries as to each others' health. Subtle gibes based on industry gossip. And then the kicker,

"I hear you've put your support behind a new Ministry initiative to regulate technological development and muggle trade."

"Indeed, Malfoy Industries is very concerned with proper safety precautions governing the research and development of new magical technologies, not to mention the risks to the secrecy act."

"And here, I thought it was merely an attempt to stifle the competition, who have not the resources to acquire an exemption to the new regulations. But now. . . hmm. . . looking at you, Malfoy, I have to wonder, is perhaps it's not just fear that is driving you? Fear, that perhaps your company, so rooted in its medieval past, cannot compete with bolder, more innovative and nimble companies willing to take risk in the name of progress?"

"Progress? You? And your one-woman firm?"

"Indeed, and others like me. Our economy is stagnant, our GNP is a joke. The standard of living has fallen greatly since your grandfathers' day, Malfoy. Something you would know if you ever stepped out of your gilded mansion. Real people are suffering. They are looking for jobs. For change, for a better way of life. I come from a different world, the muggle world. I firmly believe that there are things we can learn from them, to improve our world. And that, just as importantly, that there are things we can provide to them, without risking knowledge if our existence. It's a win-win situation. Ideas in. Product out. We help ourselves by helping them You all know that the muggle world is a dirty, loud place, full of disease and misery. But it is also a world of instant communication across the globe. A world where houses can be lit by more than candles and magic. We can use these ideas to make a better life for ourselves. And in return, we can provide them with herbal remedies that actually work, more efficient machines with a third of the pollution capacity, half the noise. Who among us doesn't want to limit the damage the muggles do to our world – and make a profit while doing so? But none of that can happen unless the Ministry sees through your schemes, Malfoy, and rejects that bill you put poor Pikrite up to sponsoring. I spoke to Sir Huddledown this morning. And he tells me that tomorrow he is planning on introducing a counterproposal to your heinous bill. One that will be fair and honest and signal the end of the era of profiteering fat cats such as yourself."

Perhaps some of the wording was not as professional as it could be. But that was sort of the point. Hermione was known for crusades, and for being an unmannered muggleborn – one really couldn't expect much from her. It was only when Malfoy returned with a snide putdown, couched in utter civility that the eavesdroppers around them realized that this fight was so on.

Later after the confrontation had ended and the whispers about these so-called bills had died down, after Ginny had really earned her new paycheck by shamelessly promoting Hermione's version and damning Malfoy's reputation with each time she denied juicy rumors about why Hermione and he had feuded so publicly in such a way as to leave absolutely no doubt in the listeners mind that Malfoy was up to something skeezy and Granger was an angel sweeping in to protect the world against his scheming ways, after all this, Hermione finally managed to catch Draco's eye from behind a column.

He drifted over slowly, tracing his way through the tipsy throng with a calculated smile there, a pat on the back here, a cold baring of teeth to side-long glances and whispers. Yes, tonight was quite the success; they'd really stirred the hornet's nest. Now, for the cherry on top. His eyes brightened with anticipation, even as he allowed his face to form a cold frown, Observant (and relatively sober) members of the evening's festivities might see him stalking towards Granger. They might see the threatening posture, the way Hermione seemed to wince, before standing her ground. The agitated motion of her hands, and the thunderous set of his features. As if he were coercing her, trying to force her to his will. While she shook her head in refusal, her eyes glinting suspiciously. From a distance, an observer would be forced to conclude that there was more going on between the two than their earlier confrontation had led one to believe. Given the Malfoy reputation, something underhanded, no doubt. And by the looks of it, Granger was on the receiving end of some cruel power play.

Hermione and Draco were counting on just that interpretation of their pantomime. Sow even more distrust of Malfoy among the progressives and sympathy for Granger – but not too much, she couldn't afford to appear weak. While the conservatives saw an upstart Muggleborn trying to force her way into a business best left to her betters and being put in her place by a scion of their class. A good thing, then, that no one was close enough to hear the banter that actually passed their lips while they play acted the scene.

"Good job Granger."

"You too, Malfoy. One would almost think you'd had practice at being a bad guy."

"I had only the best teachers G. hang around with me, and one day you too could have my skills."

"Perish the thought! What would Harry say?"

"Screw Potter."

Hermione had to clamp her lips tightly together in what could be taken as a sign of anger to a far-off observer, but what was really a desperate attempt to keep from cracking up.

"You kill me Malfoy."

"Yes, Yes, I did."

"Arghh." As she was striving to repress her eyeroll, Hermione caught a flicker of motion in the shadows. "And speaking of unpleasant times. . . ." Stealthily, she let her wand fall into her hand, the coded signal in her words causing Malfoy to maneuver his back to the ballroom so that Hermione's actions were hidden from the questioning crowds. A quiet murmur and flick of her wand, and her fist was suddenly clenching on something small and gleaming. "Quickly, Malfoy."

"On it Granger." Action followed words as he withdrew a small vial from his pocket.

"Get in there, Bitch." Hermione hurriedly shook the small beetle out of her hand and into the proffered vial. "Déjà vu much? Seriously, Malfoy. Don't people learn anything? Yes, bitch. I'm talking to you." Hermione tapped the vial with one fingertip. "You know the drill, Rita. Unbreakable. You try to transform you end up smooshed into extradense bug jam. Don't even think it. And this time, I am going to make sure you learn to mind your own business and keep your prying antennae out of other people's private conversations." With that, she primly tucked the jar into her purse. "Well, Malfoy, I'd say that about sums up our business for the evening, wouldn't you?"

"Indeed Granger. After you." He sketched the mockery of a courtly bow, as if daring her to turn her back on him.

"Oh no, Malfoy. I insist."

Warily the two supposed rivals edged their way back into the crowd. Hermione allowing herself a deep sigh of relief at the expressions of the few people who had noticed her altercation. Thankfully, no one appeared to have noticed their hasty wandwork

"Oh, Hermione! There you are!" Ginny rounded on her with an expression of concern, "I was about to come over and rescue you myself. I know you said to stay away from Malfoy, but the way he was looking at you. Does he really think he can get away with harassing you in public like that?"

"Well, you know, He always was a bully." Hermione sighed and took Ginny's arm. "What do you say, you and I split this joint? I've got a pan of brownies in my kitchen that are just screaming our names. And Molly already told me she's happy to watch her grandkids over night."

"Sounds brilliant." Ginny replied, although Hermione's blasé attitude couldn't quite erase the concern from her mind. Hermione had hired her to be her political brain, and she couldn't rest until she'd sorted out for herself just what she'd seen and learned and accomplished tonight. She would show Hermione and the world, that Ron wasn't the only Weasley with a strategic mind, George wasn't the only one with tricks up his sleeve, nor Percy the only child with ambition. A female Weasley was a rare beast indeed, not to be trifled with. And now that she had been unleashed, she was determined to take the ministry by storm. Between her and Hermione's technical brilliance, the Wizarding world wouldn't know what hit it.

TBC

~.~~.;.;.;.;.;..'.'.'.'..;.

short chapter I know. And not my best work. I can't do crowd scenes. Never could. Alas.

As for the reviewer who asked if I worked in politics – dear lord, no! I'm a doctor. I could never stand politics. I'd probably go postal.

Next time: what will Hermione do with skeeter. When will the patsies be killed. And how? And by whom? Will Hermione ever hook up with Draco? Will we ever see who the bad guys are? When will Lucius act like an ass? These questions may or may not have answers. You'll just have to wait and see.


	24. Chapter 24

Hermione was trying to have a normal day at the office. 'Normal' meaning, sitting at her desk furiously staring at the computer and attempting to reengineer some of the more muggle components of her products in a serious, long overdue effort to cut down on the amount of magical energy that went into each one of her reclamation systems. Just your every-day-average-job as the proprietor of a tech startup. She didn't have any appointments scheduled that day, and given the poor economy, business had been somewhat slow recently; she was therefore rather taken aback when the intercom buzzed.

"Ms Granger?" Her secretary sounded annoyed – she didn't like interruptions to the daily schedule- especially now that she'd only just gotten used to Hermione's return to full operations following her unexpected illness. "You have a visitor- He's not on your calender, says he a friend of yours?" Her voice rose in inquiry. To her knowledge, Ms. Granger never had friends visit her at work. A very serious young lady Ms. Granger was. Always working. And too skinny by far. No wonder the girl ended up in hospital.

"Did they give a name?" Hermoine scowled owlishly at the phone. Malfoy or Harry would see her at home, and she usually made appointments to meet Ginny either here or at the Burrow- She wouldn't just show up unannounced,.

"Yes, He says he's . . . Ron? Ron Weasley."

"Oh! Well Send him right in." Well, That was even more unexpected.

"Ron!" Hermione stood up to meet Ron in a hug. "What on earth are you doing here? I didn't even know you knew where I worked!" much less how to find a nondescript office in the industrial park of a muggle town. "Have a seat, would you like some tea?"

"Wow, Herms, this is. . . quite the setup you have here." Ron looked around nervously as Hermione's secretary shut the door, and Hermione steathily cast a quick silencing spell at the door. He'd actually managed to scrounge up some muggle clothing for the visit, although he did look just a bit awkward in them, Though maybe that was more to do with his visit than with the clothing.

"Thanks, I think? Would you like milk and sugar?" when in doubt, she always found that busying oneself with the tea things could diffuse some tension.

"Just sugar, thanks."

"Well then," Hermione pulled her chair around her desk to a more cozy tete a tete position, and sipped her tea thoughtfully, "Not that it's not brilliant to see you, but. . ."

"What am I doing here?" Ron scratched his head abashedly, "Yeah well, I guess there's no real good way to say this is there, so I'm just going to come out and say it. Hermione, I love you like a sister, you know that right?"

"Of course, Ron. And you're like a brother to me too."

"I know... it hasn't always been easy, the three of us, sticking together. I. I took it personally when you dumped me for the muggle world. Ok, I can admit it now, I was a right git about the whole thing. I never wondered too much about why you left us – why you left me. I didn't want to know, 'cause knowing, that might have some how forgiven how you broke my heart."

"Oh, Ron."

"But that was a long time ago. And now I have Lavender, and, and, a baby on the way."

"Congrat -"

"No, let me finish, I gotta finish." Ron held up a hand to cut off her words. "I'm not as oblivious as I seem, you know that, right? I do notice things. Like how you never talk about your work when we're out drinking. You're a master – mistress- of deflection. It's always been me and Harry and our jobs and quidditch and you sitting listening with your nose in a book, pretending everything is normal. But it isn't, is it? It hasn't been for a long long time. I don't know if you ever had a chance to be normal. I don't know- sometimes it feels like you are still living in the war. And I wish it weren't that way- But 'Mione, I can't live that way. I thought, when we were kids that I wanted to be a hero, I wanted the fame and the glory. Boy was I wrong. At least I learned that much from the forest of Dean. I just want a quiet normal, safe life, for me, and Lavender, and the baby. That's why – I wanted to let you know, I can't be a part of whatever it is you a doing. No. Don't lie to me, I know something's up. Harry just figured it out a few months ago, didn't he? When you were sick – and yes, I noticed that too. Now he's hip deep in the mess with you. I even got a strange call from Neville recently. And I saw Ginny's new business card, so I know, you're mobilizing the gang." Abruptly he stood and began pacing the room "I'm so, so sorry, But I just don't want to know. I'll always be your friend, but I can't be a part of this. I want my son- or daughter to be safe, not raised up in the ashes of a vigilante group like we were."

"Shh, Ron, Shhh." Hermione reached out to grab his shoulders as silent tears streaked Ron's face. "It's ok, it's alright. There's nothing to forgive. If I could have, I would never have involved any one else – I tried, I tried so hard to leave you out of my troubles. You and Harry and Ginny and the gang. I screwed up though, and Harry and M – my doctor had to pick up the pieces. I want you to live, a long and healthy life, with a beautiful huge Weasley family. I thought - I still hope – that your ignorance will keep you safe. That is what I wanted for you, and me, and everyone. But you know as well as I do, that a normal life was never in the cards for me, and all I can do it make the best of it. I will never ask you to join my project. I will tell Harry and the rest to back off. As long as you promise to live the life that I can never have."

"Blimey, Hermione, you're not going to die are you?" He couldn't help but pull her into a tightly comforting embrace. In such a pose, it was impossible not to notice the angularity of her bones, the sharp edges that her crisply tailored suit could not disguise. Nor could he miss the slight, static-like shock of her cool skin that told of recent dark magic exposure. It was all he could do not to ask what she'd gotten herself into, all he could do to continue holding her without reneging on his vow to not get involved.

"No, Ron. I'm, well, I'm getting better. And the less you know the better." Hermione sniffled. Oh how she had missed regular hugs in the years since she assumed her once solitary quest. Her monthly sessions with the boys just didn't cut it. "But thank you for coming, and thank you for still caring enough to tell me in person."

"Of course I care! You'll always be my Hermione! You don't forget a thing like that... It's just- what you're doing is important, right? Promise me you won't throw your life away like unless it's critical. Not a project like SPEW, or..."

"I promise. Really, Ron. It's important, and insane, and dangerous, and all those things that any sane person would want to run away from screaming. And that's all I'm going to tell you. Unlike with old Voldie, this is one of those instances where ignorance is the best defense. Go home, take care of Lavender and don't forget to drink your pumpkin juice. . ."

.o.o.o.o.o

"Ooof." Hermione collapsed into her squashy couch with a deflated sigh. "C'mere Marcel, there's a good kitty." Telling Ron to stay out of their cabal had been harder than she thought. "Seriously, girl, all you did was tell him to go on being himself, doing what he was doing." So why had it hurt so much to do?

"And what about you?" Hermione briskly accio'd a covered jar from her mantle, and, tossing the towel draped over it aside, tapped sharply on the glass. "Have you had enough yet? It's been a nice restful week for you. Quiet, dark, on a healthy diet. Have you enjoyed your spa escape? Are you ready to come out yet? No, kitty, not a toy." Still, she couldn't help but smile as her cat batted at the jar with one fuzzy paw, trying to catch the glittery insect inside. "Rita is not kitty food, are you, Rita? Well, anyway, not if you're willing to cooperate, at least." Yet another mystery to contemplate. What good was the Sorting hat if it had sorted her into Gryffindor only because she was brave and wanted to be there? A truly impartial hat would have put her in Slytherin whether anyone liked it or not. "Personality archetypes, my ass." Hermione was as cunning and sly as any snake, even Malfoy would agree. How much damage had that fucking lice-ridden construct wreaked over the years by its reinforcement of undesirable stereotypes, all inane rhymes to the contrary. Idly she accio'd a notepad and added another item to her list of inexplicable mysteries with negative consequences for wizard-kind. _Where had the sorting hat really come from, and who had made it?_ She knew that the myth it came from the founders was just that – a myth. They hadn't needed a hat to sort children- Hogwarts had been more of a feudal system in those days and children joined the house of their liege, or the house most closely allied with their liege lord. None of this bravery, loyalty, cunning, and brains bullshit. She couldn't quite remember offhand in which edition of _Hogwarts a History_ the dratted thing had first appeared, but she would find out. It probably wasn't related to the current crisis, but you could never be too sure, given the sort of long game their hidden enemies appeared to playing. "God, I'm getting paranoid in my old age. What do you think Rita, how much more paranoia before I end up dotty as old "Constant Vigilance" Moody? Bah, what do you know, you're just a bug with poor journalistic integrity, what am I asking you for?"

Hermione glanced at her watch; Malfoy had wanted to be present when she dealt with Skeeter, but it was still a little early yet and she probably enough time to make dinner quickly before he arrived.

"OK, Rita, you and Marcel play nice, I'll be in the next room if you need me." It was almost impressive how well the insect could glare with her compound eyes as Hermione set the jar down on the carpet where the cat proceeded to try his hardest to catch the shiny flittery thing inside. How could he know it was unbreakable?

.o.o.o.o

"So, G, have you decided what we should do with the bug? Shocking isn't it, how no one seems to care that she vanished for a week. What kind of newsroom is the Prophet running these days anyway? Shoddy, simply shoddy."

"Doesn't Malfoy industries hold large shares in the Daily Prophet? You got no one to blame but yourself."

"You wound me, Granger. To think that any one actually listens to stockholders! As if I would have anything to do with retaining such a poor example of a journalist on staff. Besides, weren't you the one who told me that Luna bought up the largest block?"

"A journalist who just happens to be sympathetic to Pure-Blood aristocracy? Hah. Malfoy, who do you think you're trying to fool? Luna has bigger fish to fry."

"Fine, be like that, Ms-Know-it-all. Answer me this, What does one do with an eavesdropping insect? Do I pin it up in my collection of exotica? Or perhaps gift it to Ms. Lovegood for her collection? Should I let it fly free, or crush it under my boot? Swat it like a mosquito, or suffocate it in a jar?"

"Firstly, Malfoy, It's my bug-in-a-jar to dispose of, not yours. And secondly, I don't think she looks anywhere near threatened enough. Even after a week in my flat. So, I think before we do anything else, I'd better lay down the law. So here it is.

"Skeeter, you violated the terms of our parole. I'm sure you thought there was a statute of limitations on our little bargain. That I stopped paying attention when I went Muggle. That, my dear, would be an entirely naïve assumption. I am a know it all, and that means I never forget. Not a slight, not a slip, not a lie. Do you remember what I told you would happen if you crossed me? If you published a word about me or my friends without my permission. Yes, I see you remember. I could pull your little glossy wing off, you evil little snitch. I could obliviate your knowledge of how to transform, and then strand you in the arctic without a portkey. Do you remember what I once did to Umbridge? With the Centaurs? Do you know what centaurs do to humans they catch in their woods? Would you like to find out? That can be arranged. A lot of effort for a little bug. Maybe I will just let Malfoy stick a pin in you. But I want you to think, long and hard, Rita, about what I did to you last time I caught you. I want you to think long and hard about what I am capable. of. I am no hero like Harry. I get shit done. I'm the fixer. Remember that, and consider the fact that if I don't kill you, I risk everything. My life, Malfoy's life. All of Magical Britain. Do you think you're worth it, when I could crush you underfoot, safely knowing that no one would miss you? Think on that while I tell you your other option.

"Do you know, Rita, what makes a man turn to the dark? Do you know how easy it is, once you dabble in dark magic to slip again, and again. Deeper and deeper? Malfoy knows, I know, Tom Riddle knew. Power is dangerous, Power plus brains is explosive. Dumbledore and Grindelwald could have ruled the world together, did you know that Rita? But Dumbles was a coward in the end. Too much a slave to convention. What do you think Malfoy and I could accomplish? Brains, muggle and magical. Wealth, old and new. Power. We could rule Britain. Wouldn't you like to see what can be accomplished when tradition and progress combine unstoppably? Wouldn't you like to have the inside scoop. To be the only one who knows the full story? Wouldn't you want to be there when we make history? You could be famous. You could be the hero of the press. And all you have to do is keep an eye out. Just for me. At the places and times that I specify. The people that I tell you to watch. Record the events. Report back to me, and only me. You can publish your usual gossip columns, but anything, and I mean anything concerning me or mine I have to personally vet first. I can turn you into a real journalist Rita, the thing you have always longed to be, not this muck-raking shit-flinger you are now. I know where the stories are. We are making them happen. And you could be remembered as the one who knew it all. Who got the story right. Not this sad, pathetic fool on the sidelines telling 4th and 5th hand stories and fragments of misheard conversations.

"Which do you prefer? Your punishment for violating parole or your reward for serving the greater good? Have you made up your mind? Good. You never had a choice anyway.

"Imperio."

.o.o. .

"Was that really necessary?" Draco's insouciant stance as he leaned casually against the bathroom doorframe was belied by the concern in his grey eyes.

"Yes." Ashen-faced, and trembling, Hermione gasped an answer before she turned back into her crouch for another bout of retching into the porcelain god.

"But why? Your threats had her scared out of her ugy-ass bedazzled carapace." Abruptly Draco pushed away from the door and dropped to his knees behind Hermione. "Ugh, hold on, let me help you." Impatiently, he pulled her hair back into a messy pony tail and accio'd a glass of fresh water. "You can't keep this up you know. Dark magic is dark for a reason. It wasn't healthy before you died, and it's not doing you any favors now. I know you've read the books. It's not just the addiction, Granger. It's your fucking soul. If the magic can't corrupt your soul, it will kill you. Again. Is that what you want? To become a dark wizard? Like my father? And let's not forget the legality of this shit. Merlin! How can a fucking genius be so dumb?"

"Had to be done." Hermione sipped gratefully at the cool water, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. "For all her conniving ways, Rita is no occlumens."

"So?"

"So. . . " Hermione paused again while a fresh wave of nausea wracked her body, before continuing, "Firstly, the speech I gave her should confuse the hell out of any one who reads that. They will wonder first of all, if Rita was hallucinating, secondly, if we were polyjuiced imposters, and finally, if they believe that I really did say all that, that we are involved in something that has very little actual resemblance to what our cabal is, in fact, up to."

"But you'd already cowed her into agreeing to whatever, you could let her out and told her to swear the fucking oath. She's not like I was, a real threat to you."

"I know. But legilimens works really poorly on victims of imperio. It's like there is some conflict in the brain where the two spells are mutually incompatible. Maybe because the imperio'd victim isn't in control? I don't know. It wasn't in the books. But basically, anyone who tries looking in her head to see what I told her to do won't be able to."

Another wave of heaves lost Hermione the water she'd just managed to swallow. But she valiantly tried again to continue, "We need that protection. She's going to be our little fly on the wall spy now. Whether she likes it or not. But I want nothing to lead anyone back to what she's spying on or why. The oath means she can't wilfully betray us, the imperio keeps her from unintentionally betraying us. And if she gets caught, all anyone will be able to get out of her is that you and I are evil."

"That probably sounded more reassuring in your head, Granger. I wish you had told me before."

"It's better this way."

"Is it? Do I even want to know how you know about the effects of imperius and legilemens?"

"No. you don't." Hermione had tested out her theories on the only victim of imperius that she knew wasn't an occlumens. She had no intention of telling Malfoy that Rosmerta had been her test subject for her tests of legilemancy.

"Right then." Draco sighed, climbed to his feet, and dusted off his pants brusquely, as if brushing away the whole distasteful conversation. "I think you've vomited up the last of it. Come on."

"Wha..."

"Oh come on, G. I'm not going to leave you lying on the bathroom floor vomiting your guts out all night, and hating yourself. Don't think I don't know what's going through your Gryffindor brave as shit dumb as hell mind right now. 'It was for the greater good, just like Dumbledore always said.' 'I just have to be strong. And soldier on. For the team. For the win.' Fuck that shit, Granger. You need some hot tea and a bath and to be put to bed. Now we can do this the easy way, and you come on back to my flat. Or we do this the hard way, where I call nursemaid saint Potter and you get to explain why you stink of dark magic again, before he fusses over you and puts you to bed. So, come on, get that boney arse off that disgusting floor, and try not to vomit all over my new shoes when I apparate us over, 'k?"

-o-o-o-o-o-

Harry threw down the morning paper with a woeful sigh, the pages folded back to the obituary section revealing the reason for his sad countenance. Someone he hadn't been able to save. Someone whose death, however unintended, would weigh on his conscience.

Malfoy, on the other hand, sipping his daily coffee, merely flicked his fingers dismissively at the brief article and shared a knowing glance with Hermione as they lingered over breakfast, two days after they'd sent Rita buzzing out the window. It was a good thing they'd been able to plant the bug when they did; her byline on the obit meant they'd be hearing from her soon.

_Rising Journalist dead in ironic accident. Wendy Whitten, 25 years old, political columnist for the Daily Prophet. Choked on a pumpkin seed while touring juice factory; covering story on the recent debate to increase tariffs on imported squash. Death ruled an accident. Ms, Whitten is succeeded by her parents, Wendell and Angela Whitten, of Westshire, and her brother, Wallace, of London. _

_-o-o-o-o-o-_

Hermione called the impromptu meeting of herself, Malfoy and Luna together, a few hours after the'd read the news.

"Ironic? Huh?" Hermioned snorted. "Hardly subtle. I'm guessing someone is trying to send a message."

"Don't you think that's a bit of a change in MO, though?" Draco mused thoughtfully, "Didn't you say you suspected previous individuals who got too close to have been victims of very un-suspicious accidents?"

"Yes." Luna agreed, her blue eyes, for once, appearing entirely focused on the matter at hand, "Wendy shouldn't have been able to provide any clues that she might not have been working alone. I thought at worst, she would get herself noticed for poking in the wrong corners. Asking questions she should not have been able to pose. Maybe it was a little too suspicious for her to start investigating out of nowhere. Could they be trying to flush out her source?"

"Hah. Whoever they are. This still doesn't get us any closer to winning at 'name that enemy'. Don't tell me we sacrificed a pawn for nothing."

"Her name was Wendy." Luna interjected mildly.

"Hmmm.. what if we're going about this wrong." Hermione stood and began pacing restlessly.

"What do you mean?"

"We've been assuming she got herself killed because of us – because we piqued her interest and made her our decoy. But what if none of this is about us, or any trouble she might have stirred up. The tariffs are a big thing recently, local protectionism vs. the global marketplace. Even here in the wizarding realm. But what if, her death is a warning for someone in the ministry? What would the effects of the tariff be on imported pumpkin juice? How is it different than local-grown, or maybe, would a hike in prices lead to a shortage or less demand? Would fewer people buy if the price was higher? And what is the threshold awakened population it would take to recognize the invisible war and start a panic?"

"That is. . . a terrifying possibility."

"It's not always about us, Malfoy." Luna helpfully pointed out.

"Actually, it might be helpful to us. If we assume Wendy was killed as a message and not for us. We have even more leads to follow. Who killed her. How they managed to pass it off as a pumpkin seed choking. Who the message was meant for and why. I need to talk to the bug. We need to watch the ministry closely, and see who starts acting suspiciously, changing their tune, etc etc.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In a sun-filled study on the other side of Britain, Lucius sat, grimly drumming his fingers along his antique desk, a folded copy of the Prophet neatly squared in the corner.

"Message received. Loud and clear."

TBC

-Hey kids! I'm not dead yet. I'm just very very distractable and uninspired. Also, moving. Yay! But my work-writing has taken much precedence this year over my "fun" writing. And will likely continue to do so in the future. How boring is that? Who wants to read a lame ass medical paper full of obscure jargon about diseases no one cares about (because hardly any one gets them) when they could be reading fiction? Oh well. Here's a chapter for you. From this point on, I am going to try to be better about advancing the plot. I just need to figure out a reasonable expose schedule and a climax. Ugh. Plot arcs are so not my thing.


	25. Chapter 25

"Message received. Loud and clear."

The old man might still have a few tricks to teach his son after all. If there was one thing Draco had overlooked in their arsenal of weapons, it was the traditional lordly industry. Agriculture. Who owned large swathes of land in Britain? Who profited from the fruits of the land? Yes. One of the few sources of power left open to the Senior Malfoy after his stint in Azkaban.

Old fashioned protectionism. Lucius allowed himself a slight grimace as he sipped his tea. He hadn't been sure anyone would take the bait. Pumpkin tariffs snuck into the next wizarding farm bill, along with quotas on imported mandrake root and bubotuber seeds. It should have seemed like an innocent act, by local lords promoting their tenants' crops. Obviously someone hadn't taken it as such. Still, he had to admire their subtlety – The girl's death could have been coincidence. Only one who knew the game would have taken it as a cease and desist warning. But – by the same note, one who knew the game would know better than to respond,

"We are, each of us, trying to flush the other out. Two hunters, circling." Bloody brilliant! One day, if they survived all of this, he'd be sure to properly thank the Granger girl for inciting this new game.

"Well that was a load of useless shite." Draco was pacing new holes in Hermione's carpet. Again.

The bug's observations had been less than helpful. "So, the plant PR manager was giving her the grand tour of the extraction and filtering floors and stopped to give her a fresh-squeezed glass, straight from the QC spigot to try. Of course, she couldn't refuse. So she took a drink. And promptly choked on a seed."

"A seed that A) shouldn't have been possible to be in the glass given the type of filtration unit the plant supposedly has, and B) was not possibly large enough to asphyxiate her in the first place, no matter how it lodged."

"What do you mean?"

"Look," Hermione grabbed a notebook and quickly sketched a diagram, "This is the size of the pumpkin seed they retrieved at St, Mungos." She'd had to threaten Skeeter at wandpoint to retrieve the memory so she could measure the bloody thing. Sometimes she really did love magical memories. "And this is the cross section of the average larynx. See? It was a small seed, just theoretically plausible enough to escape filtration if you didn't actually know how the plant worked. No matter how it could have lodged in her throat, air would get by. It would have been unpleasant and deeply uncomfortable. But she would have lived long enough to make it to the hospital."

"What about laryngospasm? Swelling from the irritation?"

"Theoretically, maybe. But then they should not have been able to extract the seed at St. Mungos like it was never lodged there to begin with."

"So what? She died of another cause? Did someone perform engorgio on the seed just as she was swallowing? Or was it actually poison?"

"Very good questions. I haven't a clue."

"Damnit Granger!"

"Hush Malfoy. What else do we know?"

"The PR manager."

"Yes?"

"Either a very good actor or truly uninvolved."

"Indeed, who else?"

"The factory workers."

"Are?"

"House elves."

"Yes. Belonging to?"

"House Curcuby"

"Who are?"

"Minor family, Old, but non-pureblood, wealth entirely dependent upon agriculture and agricultural processing products."

"Exactly, specifically – they made their fortunes following the discovery of the new world by adapting native species to grow in England. Made a great deal of money by introducing novel cultivars to the British public. In particular – the pumpkin, from which they took their family name in the 16th century."

"Oh."

"Yes, Malfoy. Oh."

"So, Granger, why has no one mentioned this before? Not you, not Lovegood, not Potter nor Longbottom? Shouldn't someone on in this little cabal have thought to wonder before now about a family who takes its bloody name from the plant that is causing all this trouble?"

"Good questions, Malfoy, but I suspect you know why already."

"So, it's not Potter's mysterious Free-Elves after all that are trying to kill us?"

"Didn't say that either."

"Come on, G, you're driving me nuts here, just spit it out already, for Merlin's sake!"

"I would if I knew, Malfoy, but think about it, when was the last time you or anyone else actually ever saw a genuine member of house Curcuby out and about? Even a minor lord should have at least one child enrolled in Hogwarts within the past 25 years. Have you ever heard of one?"

"Well fuck me, Granger. This is some fucked up shit we're getting into now. You're saying that an entire fucking minor house disappeared off the face of the planet, leaving behind only house elves and hirelings, and no one fucking noticed? When could this have happened?"

"At least you didn't ask how."

"Right now I don't fucking care how! These were our people, Granger! And from what you're saying, they're all gone and no one knew or cared. How many other houses have vanished and we were too blind to see? We just kept drinking our magic juice like good little babes without a care in the world while our friends and families were picked off one by one? Fucking hell!"

Draco was shaking. Suddenly, this really brought it home. What they were fighting against. It wasn't just some vaguely evil conspiracy that was slowly fighting a war of attrition and ignorance with wizard kind, it was an evil conspiracy that could vanish entire families and take over their lands and holdings without anyone questioning them. They had access to a chemical agent of such potent mind control that the best brains in their little cabal still couldn't figure out how they worked, and they were fighting to win. It was a wonder any wizards were still alive at all. "We're totally fucked, aren't we?"

"Malfoy, the wizarding world was fucked six ways from Sunday even without genocidal pumpkin-juice purveyors, between dark lords, pollution, cultural and technological stagnation, not to mention the Muggle question, we were already in a world of hurt. It's just one more trial we have to overcome."

"Damn you Gryffindors. Do even think about how stupid you sound? All we can save the world! This and tally-ho! That."

"You love it, Snake-boy. Someone has to give you slippery Slytherins the motivation to get up and fight for the rest of us."

". . . I just can't win with you, can I?"

The Cabal decided it was time to meet.

"We really need a name for ourselves." Harry groaned, while waiting his turn to cast a series of detection spells and wards to ensure their privacy.

"What, like "Order of the Phoenix?" "Dumbledore's Army?"" Draco couldn't resist the taunt.

"Seriously, dude? Better than "Death Eaters."" Neville scoffed.

"Boys!" Luna flounced over, "Stop fighting, I just finished evicting the Hinkypinks. You don't want your bad vibes attracting them back in to the room."

"I thought Hinkypinks were supposed to be some sort of giant horned purple rat like creature that lived in the jungles of Malaysia?" Nevile queried doubtfully.

"No, those are the Snorkwracks." Draco insisted.

"Are you sure?"

"Boys! Focus!"

"Oh right, where were we?"

"Name."

"Boys! It's your turn on the wards."

"Damnit, G!"

They were, at Hermione's insistence, casting concentric warding rings around the grounds, the cottage and the meeting room of a remote Muggle hunting lodge in the mountains of Wales. It really did feel like something from the wars. Hermione wasn't one to rely on the wards of ancient manors, infested as they were with secret elf passages, tattling paintings, and ghosts. So, here they were, each caster, of varying interests and skills practicing out their detection spells and nasty wards. All to keep out a few hypothetical evil elves. Luna, of course, had the most varied and fanciful intruder detection spells, while the Malfoys, Senior, Junior, and Mrs, had the deadliest defensive wards, and of course Hermione had the fanciest spyware detection devices (though where she had scrounged those up, no one had any idea – When asked, she had cheerfully responded with "Ebay!" a statement which common consensus determined had to be a lie.)

At last, they were finally settled around the table, with tea and biscuits. And then, the yelling began.

So many threads they were trying to tie, so many ends to weave together. Such a tangled mess. It made the wars with Voldemort look almost easy. Then they only had to kill a psychotic, soul-fragmented megalomaniac, and now? Everyone wanted to know what was being done and by whom and how they were fit into the puzzle. All at once.

"So, we're sure they're all gone?" Harry was the first to get a word in when the noise died down. "All the Curcubies?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Narcissa nodded. As the social Doyenne of the group, she was the one to review her records of social gatherings and Ministry balls. Not to mention the social pages of the Prophet and Quibbler. Whomever their enemy were, they hadn't managed to cover up that loose end. Clever, but not clever enough to bother faking up some heirs of the line to parade around. Curious. And yet, everyone had all assumed the family to exist and never thought twice about it.

"So who's running the show?"

"The elves?"

"Do they have human agents?"

"House elves can't harm their masters!"

"Remember Dobby? Or Kreacher?"

"What about the wild elves?"

"We never did prove that little theory of yours, Potter."

"Didn't disprove it either."

"Well, some human has to be in charge. Factories and estates and lordships can't be run by elves."

"Unless they have damned good glamours."

"Or the elf equivalent of imperio."

"Or access to enough money to buy off a human to act in their stead."

"Or a disgruntled werewolf."

"Let's stick with money. They have it. Pumpkins are a big business. Everyone drinks pumpkin-juice. Hence the need to import it from overseas."

"So, the Curcubies, or whomever they are, probably are just one branch of what is really the same intercontinental genocide syndicate?"

"We really have no evidence one way or the other."

"We don't need evidence, we need a plan."

"Will you shut up? All of you children!" Lucius had finally had enough, "Is this how your Order meetings used to run? I'm embarrassed we ever lost a war to you."

"Oh no, Malfoy," Hermione replied sweetly, "The Order meetings were ever so much more chaotic. Just be glad we didn't invite the Weasleys to this tete a tete."

"Remember Mad-eye?"

"Constant vigilance!"

"Those were the days."

"A little focus would be nice."

"Spoilsports."

"No wonder the death eaters always were torturing people. They never got to have any fun at their secret meetings."

Fortunately for Lucius' budding headache, Granger finally deigned to take charge of her little gang of children. Somehow, though his son steadfastly maintained a straight face, he just knew Draco was laughing silently on the inside, as if to mock him for sticking his neck in to their affairs.

Eventually, they managed to get down to business. Someone was going to have to investigate the Curcubies. They were also going to have to continue to press for legislation to subtly pressure the pumpkin farmers. To pretend as if they had never received the threat from Wendy's death. Meanwhile, there was still the problem of finding out the extent of the rot- what other families might have disappeared without a ripple or were in the process of being betrayed from within. And that was the easy part of the cabal's triune goals. Draco gave his report on their progress in pushing through tiny acts and amendments to weaken the antisecrecy laws, and Hermione gave a (possibly overly technical) lecture on her latest advances and tweaks to her antipollution technology. Luna reported on Dennis Creevy and Susan Bones' endeavors to identify and re-engineer both magical and muggle products for each others' markets. And Harry and Neville rehashed their continued failure to make inroads into understanding or combatting the mechanism behind the pumpkin-juice-induced mindfuck.

All in all, it was a rather frustrating meeting, in Hermione's opinion. Still, it did appear that everyone had a job to do, and was doing it as competently as could be expected. She knew things like this couldn't be ruhsed, and yet everyday she felt like they were up against a ticking clock of doom. When would steady progress yield to a bolt of luck or inspiration? What they needed was a true catalyst.

"What if. . ." Hermione suddenly caught herself musing out loud, interrupting yet another incipient fight between Draco and Harry.

"Yes?" Malfoy, Senior arched one perfect eyebrow in her general direction. Miss Granger nay have been an overambitious chit with grandiose dreams, but that didn't mean her ideas were totally without merit,

"What if we poisoned the pumpkin crop?" Hermione waited until the rest of the room was silent before posing her question.

"What, like all the pumpkin crops, everywhere?"

"Are you insane?"

"How?"

"What would the pumpkin-weevils survive on?"

"Chemical, biological, or magical?" Draco caught on quickly to where she was going.

"Yes."

"Do you want it to look like an accident or deliberate?"

"Yes." This time it was Lucius who answered, the beginnings of a slow gleam coming to life in his flinty eyes.

"Oooh. . . I like it." Even Narcissa was starting to smile. Subtle it wasn't. But the opening shots in the war had already been fired. "We need teams." Narcissa clapped her hands sharply. She wasn't a former socialite for nothing, Organization was totally her thing.

"Mr. Longbottom, you're in charge of magical pesticide. It needs to be pumpkin-specific. Under no circumstance to affect other squash varietals. Ms. Lovegood, you're in charge of breeding magical pests. Locusts, weevils, knephoppers, as long as they only attack pumpkins. Mr. Potter, you have counterparts in the muggle world? I want muggle-style pesticides. Mr Weasely (George), you've got accidental disasters. We need sudden fires, unexplained drought, burst irrigation systems. Draco – You're in charge of PR, we need panics about what-do-muggles-call-it? E-colon? Boycotts on agribusiness? I don't know, what, but coordinated attempts by both magicals and muggles to avoid pumpkin products. Miss Abbott – You're in charge of maps. I want full intelligence on the major world-wide punpkin farm locations. I want to know where England's imports are coming from and what the growing seasons are. Granger – You're in charge of overseeing. The attacks need to appear random at first. Muggle means Magical means different countries, different seasons, different producers. Lucius, darling, you're in charge of covering our tracks. Coordinate with each team in data gathering and execution. Do what you do best. No one in this room right here, right now, can ever be allowed to be linked back to our actions.

"Wow." Harry mouthed to Hermione across the room. He'd never seen the normally icily composed Narcissa ever deign to say so many words at once. And like obedient school children, pens and quills around the room were busily taking notes and making plans.

At last, they were going to war, and throwing all caution to the wind.

A war on pumpkins.

Halloween would never be the same again.

-TBC-

A/N – Oops. Another long wait before updates, and it's short, but at least it's up. I see by the name of this file on my computer that I started this chapter in June, and last accessed it two months ago. In my defense. I did move in June. Back up to the sane side of the country. Yay! Only to get hit by a bloody great hurricane only 4 months after leaving the festering swamp. What sense does that make? Never have I been so glad that I opted to live in the deeply uncool (but well above sea level) part of town.


End file.
